Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Zoro, exhausted and sweaty, groaned when he saw the elevator. That damn fire. He figured that it would be back to running as normal sometime between his leaving for the gym at the crack of dawn and him returning to the apartment complex a little after eight.

Instead, all he saw was a red closed for repair sign. Zoro closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was a man, a fighter, he did not lose his shit over a broken elevator, no matter how inconvenient it may be.

His tired arms pulled at the concrete emergency exit door and he began his ascent up the stairs. If only Koushirou didn’t end class with a round of conditioning, Zoro’s jelly legs wouldn’t be stumbling up the seven flights of stairs. It’s not, necessarily, that he minded walking home after a good day of training, just that he wanted to be home now and not five minutes from now.

But he kept trudging up the stairs, overwhelmed with the growing suspicion that something was waiting for him. Not a roommate, and definitely not a hot piece of ass, but a treat nonetheless.

Tumbling out the concrete staircase proved worth it. In front of his door, the door closest to the stairs, was a plate covered in plastic wrap. He squatted next to the package. Cookies, maybe? It was too well covered to tell.

Zoro's calloused hands quickly ran over the top and bottoms of the plate. No note this time. Both quickly and far too late, Zoro whipped his head around to see if there was any trace of the mysterious deliverer, but the only thing he saw was the community board showing off various apartment residents‘ pets.

Groaning for real this time, Zoro pushed his sore body up, making sure to bring the plate with him. A turn of the keys later, Zoro was in the dark of his apartment.

“Daddy’s home!” He shouted into the empty apartment, laughing both at the idea of someone rushing to come treat him and the fact that, yes, he was technically the man of this house. His homemaking definitely showed.

There was a padded mat in front of the television, where a couch would be, and a white plastic table in the corner by the balcony. No posters. No curtains. No fancy towels or rugs. Just Zoro and his stuff. It’s not like it mattered really, he barely spent any time in the place beyond the seven to eight hours it took to sleep and wake up. He didn’t need it to be homey for him to feel at peace.

Zoro carefully placed the plate on the sad plastic table. Although it was all the same to him, homemade deserts didn’t hurt.

He didn’t bother trying to rip off the plastic wrap off with his bare hands. He had tried that with the first two mystery packages, before accidentally launching Banana pudding into his face and decided maybe that wasn’t the best option. Instead, he grabbed the scissors like a civilized man and cut through it. Huh. It looked like some kind of bread. Not bothering to change utensils, Zoro cut off a small slice.

It was, of course, delicious. A chewy texture and sweet crust with flavor he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It definitely wasn’t chicken, or broccoli, or rice – the three things Zoro had the best culinary hold over. He chuckled at his own joke. This mystery cook using vegetables to make a desert, imagine!

He threw the remaining piece into his mouth and cut off another before making his way to the fridge where there was no mystery.

Until a month ago, Zoro ate the same thing pretty much every day. Eggwhite oatmeal in the morning. Chicken, rice, and broccoli for lunch. Chicken, rice, and broccoli for dinner. He had a protein shake a day, but opted for the pre-made store bought ones unless it was a special occasion. And because he didn’t want scurvy, and because a little sugar before a roll never hurt, he always brought a handful of tangerines to the gym.

It’s not that he didn’t want to eat other food! He loved some good culinary exploration whenever the boys from the gym invited him out. He had just never learned to cook pretty much anything else. Having lived with bodybuilders, boxers, and, of course, martial artists for as long as he was old enough to cook, there wasn’t a big diversity of recipes to learn from – not that he had ever been the one cooking for the apartment. Now that he lived good and truly on his own, it was all but too easy to fall back on old favorites.

Besides, he was a fighter. He woke up the same time every morning, ran the same 4 miles every afternoon, trained at the same place everyday, and sleep at the same time every night. He wasn’t adventurous about anything, he thought as he put his plate of chicken, broccoli, and rice into the microwave. But also, he nibbled on sweet bread, maybe that was wrong. It probably wasn’t exactly safe to eat whatever mysterious desert landed on your front door step.

He hadn’t even known why he had done it. Maybe it was the note “New to the building, baked too many…” attached to the carefully stored plate of cookies, a note which Zoro had taped to the side of fridge. Or maybe it was the fact that cookies sure beat another night of only CBR. Beside, anyone who dropped something off on his doorstep would have to be another resident of the building or they would not have been allowed up, and who in the complex would want to poison him?

And so he ate the mystery cookies and they were fucking good, salivate in your mouth while you’re still eating them type-of good. Zoro ended up bringing the rest of the cookies with him to the gym the next day, and even Kuina, who had been absolutely appalled to hear that he had done something so stupid admitted that they were delicious.

So three days later, when the dreaded banana pudding showed up in front of his door. Yeah, he was going to eat it.

The microwave dinged. Zoro tried to pull out his dinner, but instead burnt himself on the hot plate. Damn. He peered into the steaming microwave to see that the micro wave did in fact dry out his chicken, again.

When it was finally cool enough to touch, Zoro brought his dinner to the sole plastic chair around his dining room table. Placing his plate next to the bread, he began to dig in.

It had been mostly fun, some irregularity in an otherwise routine life. As long as he was poisoned, no harm! Especially not when he found himself having a reason to leave the gym that did not include two sheets and a pillow. Waiting in the elevator or running up the stairs, he wondered if there would be something in front of his door today.

When dinner was over, Zoro did the dishes and placed the rest of the bread in the fridge. Google said bread last longer if you refrigerate it.

Stumbling his way into the bathroom, the soreness of the day finally hit him. It wasn’t the satisfacting shake of a workout well done, but the bone-biting tiredness and burgeoning bruises that left him wanting to take a nap on the shower floor. He didn’t. Instead, he powered through, like he powered through everything, washing his body like the well-oiled machine that it was.

In the haze of the extreme exhaustion and steam, Zoro’s mind wandered back to the mystery cook. It had to be someone in the complex, but why hasn’t they left their name or their apartment number? And why was the baking all the damn time?

Zoro got carried away with the fantasy of the mystery cook’s true identity.

They were definitely a nice old lady who couldn’t get out of the house much on account of a bad hip. Zoro groaned, he had been thrown directly into his own hip that day. But she baked so often because she once had a house full of grandchildren, even now that they have grown up and moved away, her habit stuck. When Zoro finally catches her, she might even ask him what his favorite desert is and start to bake it. He turned off the water. She might even invite him over for dinner.

Chapter Text

“Elevator still broken?” Kuina teased as Zoro tied his shoes. Had he been standing, he would have kicked her in the calf. The morning chill bit at his stiff hands as he slightly looped his laces. If she was going to be annoying, he would be annoying (silent) right back!

“Cause you’re totally late lil bro.”

“It was only five minutes!” He whined. So much for the weapon of silence.

“Yeah, but you’re never late. Or at least not to our runs. So I guess it was the elevator.”

Zoro scanned the street. The sun hadn’t even begun to peak its head out from the cluttering of tall grey buildings. The dull grey of true morning shone on an empty sidewalk. Sometimes they crossed the paths of other working folks – the people who travel into the city for work, the people coming home from their night shifts, the fruit vendors setting up shop, or the stray drunk up way past the club’s closure. Sometimes they didn’t, but every morning at this time – when Zoro wasn’t five minutes late – the two of them would run to the gym.

“Well, you guessed right.” He said, starting into a jog.

They had done this ever since he moved into the complex. They would jog to the gym, catch up on gossip, and work on their endurance which one could really have enough for. As Zoro turned the corner, he felt Kuina catch up to his head start.

“What even happened with that?”

Zoro groaned. “Don’t get me started. Some idiot was cooking in the middle of the fucking night and set off the damn fire alarm.”

Kuiana overtook him slightly. After a couple of runs they realized, if they wanted to not get lost, Zoro couldn’t really be in charge of the directions. He never minded; he turned his mind off and floated through the city. The clouds, the moon, the unpacked streets, and colorful buildings were all so beautiful. On the rare mornings where Kuina wasn’t feeling annoying, he felt like he was passing through a dream. These runs were certainly a more pleasant part of his training regime, if they could be considered training at all.

“Oh my god! You have to be kidding!” Kuina replied laughing. Not good – she should be able to talk comfortably enough, but laughter meant they were going too slow. Even if this was mostly for fun, these runs were supposed to contribute to endurance that would be the lifeline of any fight. Subtly, Zoro picked up the pace.

“Nope! And the sorry idiot came down in fucking cat shaped oven mitts, god.”

Zoro smiled to himself. It would have been cute, if it hadn’t been so infuriating, the flustered blond rushing over to tell the front office that, yes, it had been a complete accident and, no, there hadn’t been any fire.

“But I mean it’s an apartment. My fire alarm goes off practically every other week.”

“Yeah, the Sunny too, but it’s always at regular fucking hours. Not three in the morning, I rolled like total shit that day.”

“You roll like shit every day.”

Zoro, who had accidentally passed Kuina in his attempt to speed them up, immediately stopped, tripping up the girl behind him. She cursed.

“That’s what I thought, loser.” He paused, had that been too mean? “And to make matters worse, it was when you were sick so I couldn’t even complain to you on my run.”

The sun had finally made its way over the building and onto the path in front of them. It felt good on Zoro’s cheeks, especially with the morning breeze. He let Kuina return to the front, satisfied with his petty revenge and ready for a truce.

“What can I say? I am just that special.” They jogged in place, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn back to white or for the stream of cars to pass.
“Think it’s your mystery cook?”

“ What? My mystery cook? You’ve tasted her cookies, dude. No way she’s starting any fires cooking a ‘really simple dish’.” He raised his voice, mocking the way the culprit had grumbled at his cigarette as the warning alarms wailed.

“What makes you think the cook is a girl? Kind of sexist, Zoro.” From the monotone way she said it, he knew she was joking, but she still had a point. Anyone really could be the cook, even if they weren’t the sweet old lady of his dreams.

“Who knows?” She leapt over a bag of trash someone had left on the street. “Maybe they’re a super gay superhunk who’s a super good cook.”

Ignoring the fact that they definitely needed to have a conversation about their pace if Kuina was able to be such a showboat, Zoro focused on an easy rebuttal. “I think you care more about my love life than I do.”

Despite their gym being absolutely wonderful in too many ways to count, the fighting community wasn’t exactly known for its loving spirit. While there had to be other gay professional fighters in their circuit, like Zoro, they must have kept in the closet or just outside of it. Kuina – who struggled to find other women as passionate as her at their gym – and Zoro were at times, each other's lifelines in an environment that could so easily become less than friendly. This bond, however, did not excuse her endless prying into his love life. Gay or straight, fighting was Zoro’s mistress and he had time for nothing else.

In front of him, Kuina stopped. It seemed like they had already made it to the blue sign marking the entrance to their gym. Zoro hadn’t even begun to break a sweat.

“Next time, we need to go faster.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She said, dismissively.

“I’m serious.”

“ I know you are.”

As he followed Kuina up the concrete stairs, Zoro didn’t know what to think. He grit his teeth. Even if Kuina’s suggestion that the mystery cook could be a hot single was interesting, it was still annoying that she seemed to think he was some sexless loser. It was even more annoying that his perfectly curated routine was still being disrupted by the blond idiot who ruined an otherwise perfectly rejuvenating night and, unintentionally, delivered his chain smoking cloud directly to Zoro’s prized lungs.

When the gym’s smell of body odor, sweat, and plastic hit his noses, he hummed. At least for now he had the sweet embrace of his one true love.

Chapter Text

There was no reason for Zoro to want to keel over and puke his guts out. The run that morning had been too easy. Classes up to that point were mostly technique or technical drills. Yet, something absolutely evil bubbled inside of him. He swallowed it down.

Zoro didn’t miss class. Especially not the one-on-ones that Koushirou so graciously offered to give him for free.

“I really think you could go somewhere with this.” His coach had once said offhandedly, as if that wasn’t all Zoro wanted from his life.

Even when Zoro wasn’t feeling nauseous, the memory of this burned at his skin behind his neck. He would make that kindness worthwhile, he would try his damnedest to go wherever he needed to go. And that included attending the fucking classes. 

So he pounded back his plastic bottle of water, filled it back up at the cooler, and then finished it all again. He looked at the big digital clock plastered far above where a stray body could knock it down. Was there enough time to eat a tangerine? Only if he inhaled it. So he ripped the flesh off the fruit and chucked the pieces into his mouth, not even bothering to savor the flavor. Yet, with how horrible Zoro felt, he doubted enjoying the water or the citrus was even possible.

“Zoro!” The older man beamed at him. Koushirou’s body looked connected to the ground. One could punch him all they liked and he, despite his slender frame, wouldn’t so much as shift his weight. If he kept training, then maybe one day Zoro might also be like that. Unshakable.

Once they both bowed to each other – Koushirou broke into a lecture about being too slow to strike that Zoro should have listened to. Instead, his fingers found their way to his forehead, damp. But he had been on a break? He shouldn’t be sweating, yet, and all sweat from earlier should have dried, solidifying itself between his skin and his rash guard.

Maybe sensing Zoro’s lack of total engagement (but, God, hopefully not noticing it outright) Koushirou quickly progressed from his lecture to the  drill he had planned. Zoro caught the green gloves his coach threw his way. He strapped himself in as Koushirou grabbed the pads from off the mat.

It hadn’t been lunch, right? He still had a day left  until the latest batch of CBR ran out and he would have to bulk cook himself a new one. No way it would go bad before then, but he had been feeling fine before lunch. He had even taken mercy on Kuina who had stolen broccolis with her fingers like a damn two year old.

A loud clap rang his ears. Zoro’s eyes quickly refocused onto his coach’s grimace. Oh shit, Koushirou had been asking him a question?

“Apologies bu–“

“ I was only asking if you liked the color of the gloves. Got them green just for you.”

Zoro sheepishly nodded. He needed to focus.

“They’re perfect. Thank you.”

If Koushirou had been pissed off by Zoro’s lack of respect, he didn’t let it show. Instead he wordlessly motioned for the fighter to drill with the pads. 

Left hook, left hook, right jab. Again. A jazzy rhythm punctuated by Koushirou suddenly switching stances, forcing Zoro to think on his feet. Normally he loved these kinds of drills, the exhilaration of a mental match beating that of a purely physical endeavor. But one time too many (once was too many) Zoro failed to adjust to Koushirou’s surprises with the speed of a champion. 

Was it the bread? Had the mystery cook finally succeeded in their long-haul plan of poisoning him? It didn't matter. He was here to train, he would train – poisoned or not. Sluggish strikes, and eventually kicks, found their way to Koushirou’s raised pads. He didn’t feel it in his hands or his knuckles, they were too well conditioned for that, but in his stomach and his rapidly spinning head.

“Harder!” Koushirou yelled. Zoro complied.

“Faster!” Koushirou demanded. Zoro tried his best to follow. 

Power exploded from his fist and legs onto the pads, Koushirou kicked his right leg back to stabilize. Had Zoro been allowed to grapple, and had this not been a drill, this would have been immediately followed by a single-leg takedown that ended with Koushirou flat on his ass. But that was the point of this drill, one trick ponies don’t make champions, even if grappling is a pretty good trick.

Acrid sweat burned his eyes. They hadn’t even been going for that long when Koushirou lowered the black pads and glared into Zoro’s stinging eyes. Slowly, he lowered his own fists, uncertain of what his coach wanted from him. 

He immediately regretted this. The nausea and dizziness which he had been successfully keeping at bay through the elite technique of ignorance and distraction wracked through his body with alarming force. He tried to swallow the feeling back down.

At this, Koushirou laughed. “You know when you can tell me when you’re feeling sick, son.”

“I can,” he willed away another round of nausea, “train, still. I was fine this morning besides I have that fight coming u-.”

“-and, yet, you're not now. No point in training for the fight when a gust of wind may as well beat you. Just come back tomorrow.” 

It was definitely the sweat causing the tears to swell in Zoro’s eyes, as he discreetly looked anywhere but his coach’s face: the front desk, the corner where the kids played while waiting for their classes to start or their parents’ to finish, the water jug, his empty lunch box still on the bench. He didn’t want to leave. Anyone could leave the gym when they felt like it, training wasn’t supposed to feel good. He was supposed to be the gym’s, the neighborhood's, champion. To become that, he needed to stay. 

Koushirou swung his face back into Zoro’s line of vision. The mischievous but severe face glaring back at Zoro reminded him of the man’s daughter.

“Roronoa Zoro, you’re not going to get your germs all on my mats and get all my customers sick just to keep your ego intact. You want me to go out of business?”

The pressure buzzing through Zoro’s body – ready to fight or throw up – relented. It would be shitty to repay Koushirou for the free lessons by getting his entire gym sick. He would go home now, eat some CBR and the rest of the bread, and go to sleep early, perfectly rejuvenated for another day on the mats.

Chapter Text

It was truly miraculous that Zoro got home without dying. Or it was probably miraculous, he thought to himself as he heaved in front of the non-descript grey building he called home, given that he did not remember anything between leaving the gym and arriving at the apartment complex.

Cold sweats assaulted his body. Koushirou had been right to send him away– he couldn’t imagine doing drills or grappling with someone or, fuck, climbing up seven flights of stairs. Zoro closed his eyes as he pushed the door open, afraid of the big red “closed for repair” sign undoubtedly staring back at him.

“You’re home early.” The nasally voice of the front desk lady made him open his eyes.

To his absolute shock and wonder, there was no sign on the elevator. “You fixed it?”

“Yes. That’s what I get paid to do.”

He nodded before stumbling forward to the button. Sweet release of a 30 second trip to the seventh floor, here Zoro came! When the elevator doors dinged open, he practically dragged himself through the entrance.

Phew. That wasn’t so bad. Except now, without the goal of one step forward, Zoro’s body had no reason to keep itself up. His stomach cramped and his vision blurred. Was he at the seventh floor yet?

Zoro squinted his eyes. He hadn’t even pressed the button – this was how waiting on solid ground felt. Shakily, Zoro pressed the faded number seven and was rewarded with the sudden lurch of the elevator. Fuck, was this thing always so fast? His white knuckles gripped the rails, as if they could slow down the machine. Just one more floor, then he could get off and lay.

The elevator stopped as violently as it started and the delirious Zoro tottered out, only to be shocked to his senses.

The fire starter was in front of his house!

Of course, the boy was facing the door, but Zoro knew that blond tuft of hair. It was his fault he was feeling so sick right now. If he hadn’t gotten the elevator stuck with his antics, Zoro wouldn’t have been so happy to ride it and been made to feel ten times worse by its speed and jolts.

“Hey Kitten-mits!” Zoro shouted dumbly. “You set off the fire alarm the other day.” That would show him! Now, Zoro could go lay down and maybe try to door dash some medicine.

“Yeah and?” The boy’s shoulders were tense, like he was expecting a fight, but he hadn’t turned around to be annoying. Good. Even if Zoro hated street fights, he’d pop the guy right now if that blond disaster tried him any more.

“And that um…” Zoro’s brain felt like mush, like it was firing on every single cylinder just to keep him standing upright. What had he even been angry about? The elevator!

“And so thanks to you I just now road the elevator!”

The man whipped around revealing not only his frighteningly handsome face but also the fact that he was a duplicitous thief. In his hands, rested a carefully wrapped plate of deserts. A mystery treat. He started to walk away from Zoro’s door.

“Hey!”

The fire-starting thief stopped.

“Stop stealing my mystery treat!” The words came across as more slurred than demanding.

“Your mystery treat?”

“Yeah!” the man’s face had gone back to being blurry, making it much easier for Zoro to complain, “My mystery cook made me a mystery treat and you’re stealing it.”

The scoundrel stepped forward. “I am not a cook.”

Zoro shot his hands forward, grabbing onto the other end of the plate. “Yeah, I know. You almost burnt the apartment complex down in the middle of the night. Doesn’t scream expert to me.”

The thief tugged at the plate but it was useless, even sick as he was, Zoro had the grip strength of someone with a lifetime of grappling experience.

“I’ll tell you what I told Linda.” He growled. “It was my first time baking eclairs in a convection oven and I didn’t trim the wax paper right. It was an honest fucking mistake and I noticed it right away.”

Zorro loosened his grip on the plate. “Eclairs?”

“Um… yeah? Eclairs.”

“Is that some sort of casserole?”

“It’s a pastry you idiot.” The man snatched the plate back.

Zoro stumbled backward. The must of the water damaged hallway doubled his nausea. Cold sweat trickled down his face. This thief could take his mystery treat, he just wanted to throw up or lay down or ideally both, in that order.

Not quite shoving past the man, Zoro stuck his key into the lock.

“Well, you can’t be a very good pastry cook if you forget to cut the paper or the wax or whatever and start a fire.”

“You seemed to like my baking just fine a second ago.” The man said.

“You’re the mystery cook?”

Zoro couldn’t even stew in the betrayal as he was busy opening his front door and vomiting all over where the doormat would have been, had he owned one.

Chapter Text

“What kind of neanderthal doesn’t own a broom? No mop– okay, that’s gross but it’s a mop! No mop and no broom?” The mystery cook’s voice of disgust hurt Zoro’s ears. He squeezed his eyes even harder shut, as if that is where noise came from.

He wanted to say, “This kind of neanderthal,” and do something cool like run his hands through his hair, but opening his mouth again was not an option. The last time he opened his mouth, he threw up everywhere and the mystery cook was still trying to figure out what exactly to do about that.

So instead, Zoro laid perfectly still on his T.V. mat, which the mystery cook had all-but carried him to before setting off to find something to clean the mess with. Zoro squinted his eyes open, between his eyelashes he saw that the mystery cook was no longer there. Good! Zoro would handle this by himself, after he took a nap.

He let his eyes close. Laying spread eagle on the mat was actually incredibly comfortable, why had he ever felt horrible in the first place?

Somewhere, outside the world of Zoro’s shut-eyes, he heard jangling, grunting, and scraping. It was probably a burglar. That was okay, they could come. He would just handle it once he had taken his rest. It would probably be over fast – quick sweep of the legs and then he would call the police. If the guy was really wryly, then Zoro would just hold him in mount until the police came. He probably didn’t even need to call the police– Zoro was a reasonable guy and he really had nothing worth stealing. That is if the intruder didn’t have a gun. Oh, God. What if the he had a gun? Panicked, Zoro willed his eyes open.

“Hey Mosshead! I’m talking to you.”

It wasn’t a gun wielding maniac, but his mystery cook from earlier, squatting next to Zoro on the mat. The man’s face was inches away from Zoro and disconcertingly charming.

“Huh?” Zoro asked before immediately flinching away from his own vomit breath.

If the cook noticed, he didn’t react. Instead, he took a deep breath before repeating the question that he had asked earlier, “Where do you keep your medications?” He enunciated each word like Zoro was too stupid to understand him.

Zoro raised his heavy palm to his sweaty forehead. “I have tiger balm in the bathroom.”

“I don’t mean tiger balm, I mean Tylenol, idiot.”

“Oh. Yeah, no. I don’t have that.”

“You don’t have Tylenol?”

“I don’t have anything that’s not tiger balm, which is in the bathroom.”

Huffing an even deeper breath, the cook stood back up.

“I eat at least four tangerines everyday. I don’t get sick.”

The cook walked away, muttering angrily. It was true, though. This must have been the first time Zoro had felt ill since moving to the apartment, it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t clairvoyantly guess that this would be the day his mixture of good luck and daily vitamin C ran out.

He rolled onto his side facing the television. Maybe he could catch up on some UFC analysis while he waited for this to blow over. Fuck, the remote was totally still on the plastic table and not anywhere Zoro could reach without standing up. Oh well, he had his phone and YouTube on the phone was almost even better than YouTube on the T.V.. This was actually perfect.

As he fumbled to get his phone out of his pocket, Zoro felt a slender finger jab his shoulder. He rolled back over to see the blond glaring at him with a palmful of colorful pills. Clumsily, Zoro grabbed them.

“Um. You don’t have to, but is there anyway you could hand me the rest of that bread you made the other day. You know, as a chaser?”

The cook’s eyebrow shot up, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s in the fridge. I read that makes it last longer.”

If the cook had anything to say about the sad state of Zoro’s fridge, he didn’t say anything. He took the rest of the bread out of its gallon sized plastic bag and put it on a paper towel. Instead of handing Zoro the treat immediately, he stuck it in the microwave.

After a couple of seconds, the cook returned with the bread in his hands, a bottle of water, and an almost sweet look on his face. Zoro swished down the pills and started on the bread. It wasn’t as gooey as the night he had it fresh, but was still a welcomed alternative to the lingering taste of vomit.

He laid back down, heart thumping sluggishly. Worming his phone and headphones out of his short pockets, Zoro put on zoom YouTube video of about the many failures of the newest face to try, and fail, to make a splash in the UFC’s lightweight decision. The words were meaningless to him but engulfed him all the same like the fuzzy blanket that – somehow – made its way around his shoulders. It was the blanket he got as a freebie for winning the nationals at seventeen. How did the cook even find it?

It didn’t matter. Zoro finally rested, nothing else to do but listen to his video, close his eyes, and let his white blood cells kick ass. For some reason, the cook didn’t leave, but sat at the plastic table typing away at a laptop. He must have brought it over. Zoro didn’t mind.

In fact, he must have slowly scooted over to the edge of the mat closest to the white table at some point, as he spent most of that feverish night almost curled around the cook’s bouncing leg. Periodically the cook took a break from typing to make him drink water or sip soup, but that did not disrupt his dreamlike state.

Zoro ended up sleeping on that mat for 13 hours straight.

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe that I threw you today.” Kuina snipped at the pork belly with her cooking scissors.

“Keep not believing because this will be the last time that ever happens.” He defended pathetically stealing the now cooked meat off the girdle.

Normally, when they went to Korean barbecue, Zoro was the one in charge of cooking, but this time Kuina had insisted on being the grill master. Without the stress of babysitting their dinner, he basked in the ambiance of the hole in the wall meat place that had become a staple in their friendship. The warmth of the barbecue griddle was especially welcome given the biting chill from which they entered the restaurant. While this freedom was certainly welcomed, it came with the consequence of slightly charred meat.

Next to him, Luffy motioned to the burnt pork on Zoro’s plate with his chop sticks. “You gonna eat that?”

Visiting flyweight Luffy’s appetite did not match his noodly, but deadly, body. The last time the boy visited, from his residency in Las Vegas, Zoro joked that making weight must have been a walk in the park. Luffy, with the look of a wounded puppy, replied that it was hell on Earth. This had made Zoro laugh so hard that Koushirou made him run laps around the gym for the rest of class. Safe to say that Luffy’s visits were always fun, if not a little bit chaotic.

“Nuh-uh” Kuina said with a disruptive smack of the tongs. “Zoro needs that meat. You can eat what I’m about to give you.”

Luffy pouted, but ultimately coincided. Kuina turned her stoney gaze back to Zoro.

“You know you’re not supposed to be cutting, yeah? You’re not supposed to start for another two weeks, at least, and at this point you need to put some muscle back on.”

“I know.” He replied curtly.

“So why are you giving Luffy your plate? I didn’t pay the price of three to feed two.”

Zoro looked down at his rice bowl to see it overflowing with the stream of uneaten meat, dutifully but poorly cooked by his dear friend. Luffy’s chopsticks snagged a wobbling piece of beef on the bowl’s metal rim.

“You don’t want to drop another weight class, next thing you know I’ll be beating you in and out of practice!” The way Luffy smiled, Zoro could tell he believed what he was saying.

“I guess I haven’t been as hungry as normal lately. But if it’s impacting me on the mat the-”

“It’s definitely impacting you on the mat. You totally sucked today! I was going to ask Kuina if this was a new thing or-”

“Luffy!” Kuina moaned. When the boy tried to defend himself, she shut him up with a fresh delivery of meat. This did nothing to quiet the panic that was firing off in Zoro’s head. Had he really been sucking that bad? Sure, he noticed it but hoped that it was mental, but if other people were picking up on it then there was no way that wasn’t the case. He took in a deep breath through his nose, but all that did was remind him that he was in fact at the meat house.

“So what’s up with you dude?”

“I- Uh-” his neck burned. He really didn’t want to talk about how he had suddenly become the world’s worst fighter three months before his fight in front of Luffy… But who was he trying to kid? Luffy was now distracted by the meat, it would take a tsunami to distract the boy.

“Don’t tell me it’s the cook.” Kuina groaned.

“The cook?” Luffy asked through a mouth full of lettuce, rice, meat, and sauce. Zoro’s love life, it seemed, was indeed a natural disaster.

Kuina’s mouth opened into a near-perfect O. “Don’t tell me he didn’t tell you about the cook!”

Luffy shook his head, still swallowing the monstrous wrap that he had made.

“Traitor!” Zoro hissed, not sure whether it was directed to Kuina, Luffy, or both.

“Oh my god! So this stranger was leaving baked goods at Zoro’s place, yeah? And Zoro didn’t know who it was until he got like embarrassingly sick and the stranger, who turned out to be super hot, mind you, came and helped him out.”

“Way to go, Zoro!” Luffy, who had successfully swallowed without choking, slugged Zoro on the shoulder.

“Except I didn’t even get to tell him thank you.”

“Because when Zoro woke up, the stranger was gone!” Kuiana laughed.

The whole experience had been mortifying enough without the cook’s sudden disappearance. But it seemed like the man was intent on embarrassing Zoro as much as humanly possible.

He had woken up, sweaty gym clothes stuck to his still feverish body, and stumbled through the entire apartment looking for the man. When he couldn’t find the blond hiding in the shower or under his bed, Zoro found himself in the hallway as if he could catch the cook in a delivery a second time. This was, of course, futile.

Defeated, Zoro returned to his apartment, unsure if he had imagined it all in a moment of sick desperation. Weird fantasy, if true. But weirder truth, because, when Zoro opened his fridge, he saw a huge tupperware which hadn’t been there the morning before.

He heaved it onto the counter, curious whether the desert was truly that heavy or if he was still weakened by sickness. Removing the red lid revealed that it wasn’t a treat at all, but chicken, broccoli, and rice soup. Zoro laughed to an empty kitchen.

In all the years of making that meal, he had never considered experimenting with any other form. But this soup smelled good, like restaurant food.

“That doesn’t sound too bad. If the cook was giving you cookies why didn’t you just wait for him?” Luffy asked. Kuina grinned like a predator, turning to Zoro whose cheeks were burning. In a lame attempt to avoid the question, Zoro shoved a Luffy sized wrap into his mouth.

But Luffy, who was never patient anywhere outside of the ring, waited. Even Zoro’s purposefully slow chewing could not save him from having to answer.

“He - uh - he did not,” Zoro coughed, “bring anything else to my house. Any more mystery treats, that is.” Suddenly the engraving on the flat silver chopsticks was the most interesting thing Zoro had seen. How had they never discussed the cutlery’s beautiful craftsmanship in all their time coming to that restaurant? He really should change the subject to give it the praise it deserves.

“Rough buddy.” Kuina said, outside of Zoro’s field of vision.

It wasn’t rough, it was humiliating. Zoro could not believe that he had been such a mess it put the cook off of returning. In one foul swoop, Zoro had broken his proud no-sickness record and scared away the one exciting thing about his iron-clad routine.

And what’s worse was that he had been so excited! In the week and a half after the incident, Zoro had practically bounded home, hoping to catch the cook again, thank him, and maybe even invite him inside under better circumstances. But after learning to stop expecting the excitement of a potential surprise on his door step, Zoro suddenly lost all interest in leaving the gym. He was once again the last to leave, trusted to lock the door for Koushirou and Kuina.

He hadn’t even learned the cook’s name.

Spending so much time in the gym meant less time for meal prepping and more days of chicken, broccoli, and rice. He was unable to replicate the soup that he had devoured in two days and opted for his classic recipe. Without the variety added by the sporadic deserts, he found himself less and less enthused by his soulless dinners which, when paired with dwindling night time, led to more and more skipped meals.

It had seemed that his overtraining and improper refueling had, in fact, borne consequences. Fuck. This stupid cook, it was all his fault.

“So that’s why you’re rolling shitty? No deserts? I get it,” he said sagely, making Zoro feel worse. If Luffy thought his problems were understandable, then he must have been acting like an idiot.

The boy took another huge bite. With his mouth full, Luffy waved his chopsticks in Zoro’s face. “It sounds like you need him to start baking for you again, if you want to stop sucking before your Mihawk fight.”

“My Mihawk fight?” Zoro could not contain his surprise. Dracule Mihawk had been a legendary fighter when Zoro was still a boy, but had obviously retired from the ring following an undefeated career. Zoro would no sooner fight him then he would fight Muhammad Ali’s ghost. “I’m not fighting Mihawk, I’m fighting Kaku.”

“I know that, I’m not stupid! But Mihawk is going to be there.”

“Mihawk is going to be there?” Zoro and Kuina asked over each other, which would have been funny if not for the fact that Zoro’s childhood hero was apparently going to watch his next fight, while he was in one of the worst pre-fight slumps of his career.

“Yeah? He’s flying out as a representative of the UFC. You really should know this, Zoro.” Luffy tore into another ginormous wrap, ignorant to the fact that what he said had turned Zoro’s tongue dry and palms clammy.

“Kuina, did you know about this?” He asked. Eyes closed. Fists wrapped around his chopsticks like a petulant child, as if that could do anything about the racing in his heart.

“Of course, not!” She sounded genuinely hurt. “You get a chance to be scouted and you think I wouldn’t tell you?”

“No,” he felt ashamed of himself for asking, “I know you’d tell me. I just didn’t know if this was one of your dad’s mind tricks or something. Like a lesson that I should be training for all of my fights like they will be my big break.”

“Well, I mean you definitely should do that but no I don’t think he knew either. He wants your success more than anyone, so don’t be shitty.” She turned her incredulous glare to Luffy. “How do you know about this?”

“Shanks!” Luffy hummed.

Zoro put his hands on his face. He had three months to prepare for this career-making fight, and he had wasted valuable time overtraining. He looked across the restaurant to the large window by its entrance. It was beginning to sprinkle the first snow of a late fall. Or was it early winter? And would, come the end of this winter, would he still have his career as a fighter? Zoro shuddered at the imagined chill of outside, and not at the scary thought that he had just had.

“Here,” Luffy said, interrupting Zoro’s self-pity with a delivery of meat fresh from the boy’s own plate. “I think you’re going to need this.”

Chapter Text

Zoro’s body exploded forward, a heavy dumbbell in his hands. He would become the best fighter – fastest and most relentless – to come out of their borough. The gym was empty now and the sun had completely set without Zoro breaking from training to turn on the big lights. He didn’t need to see, as his body knew the weight in his palms and the electricity of his movements. Sweat trickled down his navel.

The circuit was over all too soon, but everything finished too quickly when he had not yet won his fight against Kaku. But still, proper rest was almost as important as powerful training.

He prepared the gym for night, first wiping down the weights before moving onto the mat. It was almost meditative, dragging the mop back and forth to the red floor.

Ever since his wakeup call at the Korean barbecue place, Zoro felt a relentless hunger to train. He returned to his meal plan, the cook be damned, and then to his training, with a vengeance. He could feel himself growing stronger and becoming more and more prepared. Fuck, he had even been given special permission to be there at the gym that day because it was otherwise closed on account of Thanksgiving.

The floor was clean and Zoro was satisfied. A pang of nostalgia assaulted his heart. As a snot-nosed fourteen year old, he cleaned Koushirou’s floors after hours of grueling practice. Adult Zoro looked over to the cubby corner, which hadn’t really changed in the near decade that he had been training there.

Kid Zoro would clean the floors, bow another goodnight to Koushirou, and tip toe over to his cubbies. It could not have been sneaky. Anyone with two eyes and a brain would have noticed the pile of toiletries, clothes, and homework shoved in the bottommost cubby as if that meant it wasn’t there. But it was, and Zoro would rummage through the stuff – ensuring that none of his possessions had been stolen over the course of the day, although of course they never were – before ultimately landing on his blanket, the first blanket that he won in a competition (whose application fee was crowdfunded by their gym). He would take his prize and his rolled up hoodie, go to the corner and sleep.

Zoro palmed the now-ragged blanket that he, for some reason, brought in his gym bag. He had his own place now, it was true. But Koushirou and Kuina were all the way on the west coast for Thanksgiving dinner with their extended family. And they certainly wouldn’t care if he spent a night at the gym for old times sake.

So Zoro took his fuzzy blanket and curled into the rightward corner. Even though he only slept there for what must have been a year before being invited to join an apartment of bachelors and bodybuilders who were regulars at the gym, his spot greeted Zoro like a mother meets her now grown child.

He expected to fall asleep like a baby, but found himself unable to stop thinking about the fight ahead. He had to win. Koushirou, the gym, they had practically given him his life. That kind of gift could never be paid back, but it could be honored. It had to be honored.

Zoro flopped onto his side. For some reason, Luffy’s words from the Meat Shop came back to him: “It sounds like you need the cook to start baking for you again, if you want to stop sucking.”

Despite the humiliation of having his friends dissect Zoro’s failed interactions with an annoying stranger, who wasn’t even that gorgeous, the intervention had paused Zoro’s preoccupation with thanking the guy. It had reminded him that there were more important things to be concerned about, namely: training and honoring opportunities his community fought to provide him.

But in the comfortable divet of the mat’s corner, Zoro couldn’t help but think of the handsome man. Surely, a cook as good as him has to be enjoying a delicious thanksgiving feast right now. Zoro’s stomach grumbled. If he had more choices than chicken, broccoli, and rice – maybe he’d be at the apartment eating Thanksgiving dinner too.

If only he could see the cook again and thank him, like a man. Then, that would be one less person he was indebted to, and the blond’s smarmy face could stop haunting his dreams.

Three days later, Zoro was back at home with a plan that left Kuina ready to kill him over the phone and a grocery bag full of ingredients. It wasn’t ideal, but he had no other choice.

He even googled it (on incognito mode); the Sunny Apartment complex didn’t fine residents until their second fire alarm. And Zoro did not cook enough that there would ever be a second.

He had tried, on his rest day, to camp out in the lobby, waiting to catch the cook on the move, but the only people he recognized was the hasty redhead and a smiling family of three. Freeing himself from this gratitude seemed impossible. Zoro couldn’t even ask the downstairs lady for his apartment number on account of resident confidentiality bullshit. But Zoro loved the impossible and sought to wrestle it every day.

He was far less acquainted with the fight to make a successful treat. Zoro cursed at the eclair recipe pulled up on his phone. This stupid French pastry seemed impossible to cook – no wonder the cook had fuck it up that one time. But he had already bought the ingredients (he intended to make a clever nod to one of the few parts of their conversation that he could remember) and could not back down.

Zoro greased, boiled, stirred, beat, preheated, separated, and coated the impossible desert. No step mirrored that of the seemingly effortless recipe page and no eclair looked as good as Google pictures implied they should, but they smelled delicious. When his creations finally cooled down, they tasted even better. Zoro smiled, teeth probably covered in chocolate. He had made something that wasn’t chicken, broccoli, and rice and it was good. Even if the cook did not accept his thanks, Zoro could find satisfaction in his newfound talent.
Maybe he could make these again for the gym!

All there was left to do was make a scene.

Zoro turned the stove to its highest heat and gingerly placed a paper towel on the burner. While waiting for that to singe, he loaded the eclairs into his red Tupperware. With a bottle of water in hand and his eyes on the flammable material, Zoro waited for smoke. It came quickly.

He looked up at the ceiling. Wasn’t it supposed to ring now? He had never set off the fire alarm before and didn’t know what to expect. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a lot of waiting, Zoro was excited to start phase two of his plan.

As if the universe was listening, loud angry blares attacked his eardrums. Fuck, expecting the sound did not make it any less annoying. With one hand Zoro uselessly tried to block off the noise from entering his right ear, with the other hand he grabbed the treat.

The hallway’s alarm was somehow even louder than that inside the apartment. Disoriented by the sound, Zoro found himself fumbling down the exit stairs. His quick feet lead him down the first flight of stairs before he quickly stopped. Oh shit. It was an old lady.

He felt terrible. When he hatched his brilliant plan, he hadn’t thought of the fact that old people were bound to live in his building. Somewhere in California, Kuina would be thinking “I told you so”.

“Here ma’am,” he stuck out the arm that had been guarding his ear, “Let me help you.”

The old lady with the kind face looked back at him with a frown.

“What?” She yelled.

“LET ME HELP YOU!” Zoro tried to shout over the alarm.

At this, she nodded and grabbed Zoro’s extended arm. Between Zoro and the rail, she was able to more quickly get down the remaining 5 flights of stairs.

Outside was cold, another thing for which Zoro hadn’t accounted. This time it was the old lady’s turn to comfort Zoro, as she wrung her pink hand-made scarf around Zoro’s neck with a wink.

Now, slightly warmer, Zoro turned back around to survey the crowd. He saw many faces. Some he recognized, like the lesbian couple with the bulldog. Most, however, he didn’t. Most importantly, he failed to find the annoying face of the blond cook. Fuck.

It was still so close to thanksgiving after all, he probably was spending the holiday with his family. All this was for nothing and he couldn’t pull this stunt again without being fined. What was he thinking?

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, the scary front desk was storming up to him. Zoro looked over to the old lady in a half-baked attempt to send the desk-lady her way instead. This was unsuccessful and the desk-lady, who smelled like menthol up close, glared at him.

“Are you room 713!”

“Um.” He looked back at her. She didn’t seem satisfied with that as an answer. “I messed up cooking, it was my first fire alarm!”

“Well-“

“Hi Linda!” A slender hand clasped Zoro’s shoulder.”How was your granddaughter’s birthday?”

Zoro did not need to turn around. The stale smell of cigarettes told him that the cook had found him.

Linda blushed. “You tramp! It was good, she did end up loving the cake. Thanks again for the recipe.”

“My pleasure darling. I see you’ve met my friend?”

“Your friend? I don’t know what y’all get up to, but no more setting off fire alarms.” And with her warning given, Linda stumbled away.

Zoro whipped around too quickly to realize that doing so would put him mere inches away from the cook’s face.

“What was that?”

“Me saving your ass?” His face was smug. Zoro squinted. It looked like the cook had let a little stubble grow out since the last time they talked, but he couldn’t tell if it was the result of deliberation or accident. The fire alarm continued to blare inside.

“Yeah but I was hoping thank you, not to have you save me. Again.”

“I guess I can be quite heroic like that.” The cook’s eyes darted down, grazing past Zoro’s lips before landing on the box in his tan hand. “What did you mean be hoping to thank me.”

“I - uh - made these for you.” Zoro raised the box of eclairs to eye-level, forcing some much needed distance between the two men. “It’s those french things you made last time.”

“Ah, you fucked up the oven settings too?”

“What? No. I cooked these perfectly, thank you very much.”

“Then, what set off the fire alarm?”

“I had to find a way to get them to you somehow didn’t I?”

The cook’s eyes widened in horror. “So you set the fire alarm off? On purpose?”

“Keep your voice down will you?” Quickly Zoro scanned the crowd for Linda’s cantankerous face, she was talking to the red head no where near them.

“But, yes, I guess you could say that I did that.”

“To deliver me eclairs? Which you know I make myself?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god. You’re an idiot!” The cook said more to himself than to Zoro. He began to walk away chuckling.

“Hey! Stop being a dick and take these eclairs!” Zoro shouted back, far too loudly as the fire alarm decided to turn off at that very moment. His ears burned.

“Everyone, the fire alarm has been fixed, you're free to go inside.” Linda roared over the crowd of residents, cutting through the awkward silence Zoro had created.

Zoro watched the blond walk back into the building, not caring about his demands, and so he followed. Then, he followed the cook up the stairs and he made sure to keep pace, despite the cook’s best efforts to lose him up the stairs. In some weird mind game, the cook got out on the seventh floor. He huffed and puffed by the door as Zoro finished catching up.

“Probably those cigarettes. Why did you lead us to my house?”

The cook turned his face back to Zoro and growled. “You are not the only person who lives on this floor, Mr. Pink polka dots!”

Zoro looked down, he was still wearing the garish scarf from the old lady. This was not the impression he wanted to be making.

“You’re my neighbor?”

“Obviously!”

As the cook caught his breath, Zoro thought about how stupid he had been to go through all this effort to run into the person living next to him. It would have been less humiliating to just wait outside of his door. At least then they could argue with Zoro wearing an indignifying old lady scarf.

“Are you going to take my eclairs?”

“Obviously!” The cook repeated, grabbing the tupperware like it was an inconvenience.

Holding the container with both hands, he stood in front of his door and looked at Zoro expectantly. Quickly Zoro yanked the knitwear off of his neck. What was he supposed to do now?

“Um,” his cheeks burned, “Thanks for making sure I didn’t die the other day.”

“Oh?” The bravado that seemed to ooze out of him, suddenly stopped. The cook looked genuinely taken aback. “You’re welcome.”

“I hope you like the eclairs half as much as I liked your mystery treats.” Zoro said, careful to keep his straight face.

This only made the weird expression on the cook’s face even weirder.

“And, uh, I normally try to ask this before I throw up in front of somebody but what’s your name?”

“Sanji.” The boy jostled open his apartment door while balancing the eclairs on his hip.

“Aren’t you going to ask mine?” Zoro blurted out, stopping Sanji from closing the door.

Bemused, he replied, “But it’s Zoro?”

“What?! How do you know that?”

“I asked Linda.” He said with a coy smile before shutting the door. That little shit. Zoro could have asked the front desk lady – no, Linda – this whole time? That annoying bastard, he probably looked all smug with himself on the other side of the door too! Zoro ought to break it down and complain to him about the lengths he had to go through to learn his name alone! Why had Sanji gotten it easy? He squeezed the scarf in rage.

He really should return it to the old lady before she suddenly disappeared too. The bigger person that he was, Zoro returned to the exit stairs, grumbling like a child. That stupid beautiful annoying cook.

The next morning, Zoro opened his door and almost tripped on a box while trying to leave for his run. Wobbly, Zoro leaned over and picked up what, a closer inspection revealed, was a mystery treat.

Chapter Text

Zoro was on a roll and he tried not to feel too relieved. Victory is never assured but the cold sweaty hand of panic, which had been squeezing him, let up ever so slightly.

He certainly had no time for reflection in the middle of his sparring match with a heavyweight. Jinbe came from a Judo background, but was still slightly less experienced. Zoro pawed him away, careful not to give too much leeway for a takedown. They circled each other on the mat. In the distance, Zoro could hear Kuina cheering Jinbe on. Traitor.

“Go for the takedown!”

And Jinbe did. Zoro shuffled, creating an opening to strike. The handful of onlookers groaned.

“You okay?” Zoro whispered without dropping his fighting stance. He never wanted to actually injure anyone, ever, and especially not during practice.

Jinbe replied, “Yeah, I’m good.” He brought his burly fists even closer to his face. Smart.

They circled each other for a little while longer before Jinbe swooped in for another takedown. This time, Zoro used Jinbe’s weight against him and the larger man landed swiftly on the floor. Like water, Zoro followed, bringing himself on top of his partner into a position of power.

Knowing what was next, Jinbe protected his head which kept Zoro from striking. No matter. He saw the gap between Jinbe’s arms and took it, maneuvering himself into a choke.

Just as he began to flex his bicep, bringing the thick muscle against Jinbe’s neck, the timer rang.

“That’s all for today!” Koushirou announced over the sounds of the various fights. “Make sure you hurry home, frostbite will not get you out of tomorrow’s conditioning!” He chuckled at the gym’s moans.

Zoro loosened his hold on Jinbe and pushed himself off the ground. Once his feet were securely on the mat, he extended out his hand.

“You trained well today.” Zoro said once his sparring partner had been brought to standing.

Together, they walked to the line of people facing Koushirou and the other coaches. Zoro mentally prepared himself to zone out from Koushirou’s inevitably long winded speech, but instead he found himself bowing in unison with the other gym members. Thank god for muscle memory. Walking through the snaking line, Zoro shook hands with every person who crossed him.

At the close of this ending ritual, someone excitedly kicked Zoro’s calf from behind. Of course, it was Kuina.

“Look at you man! Even Jinbe couldn’t throw you!”

Zoro looked at his last sparring partner of the day, who was on the bench downing a half liter of water. Even sitting down, Jinbe looked like a formidable fighter.

“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you.”

“If I would have known that triggering the fire alarm would put you back on track, I would have made you do it way earlier.”

“Hey! I’m back on track by my own accord!” Zoro slipped into the zip-up that he won at last year’s grapplers quest. Kuina, who was still wearing her gi pants, used Zoro’s shoulders to steady herself as she worked her feet into her snowsboots.

“You don’t want to change pants?” The breathable cotton material was great on the mat or even on a summer day’s walk home, but not during a snow storm.

“No, I don’t.” She slipped a beanie onto her head, before asking impishly “So what did Sanji make you today?” She said the cook’s name like a school girl making fun of her friends’ crush.

Zoro hid his burning face by looking down at his legs as he shimmied on his grey sweatpants. When he looked back up at Kuina, who was grinning at him evilly, his cheeks were only a little hot.

“White brownies.” He tried to say nonchalantly.

“Oh my god, you guys are so cute, I actually hate you.” She slugged his shoulder before zipping up his jacket. “You sure he doesn’t have a single brother?”

“Kuina, he only bakes me things. We don’t even talk!”

“Sure. Sure.”

And with that the butterflies that had been quietly building in his stomach dissipated. He didn’t have a crush because he didn’t have time for a crush, not when Mihawk would be at his next fight. So it didn’t matter if things were hopeless or not with Sanji as Zoro didn’t care.

As him and Kuina walked out of the building, some of the boys hollered after him. “On a roll Z!” “Kaku doesn’t stand a chance!” “Good job today!” Zoro’s body didn’t know whether to blush at Kuina’s questioning or at the support of the gym members, so his cheeks decided to burn doubly hot.

Zoro could not pretend that the mystery treat’s great return was not a fantastic morale boost. Of course, he could choke down more CBR if he had a pastry to go with it. Of course, he trained with near reckless dedication, since he knew he had something comforting waiting for him at home.

When they arrived at the bottom of the stairs, the cold attacked Zoro’s nose. He was glad that Kuina reminded him about the snow storm that morning, and he would have been even more glad if he had taken her warnings seriously. A hoodie was not enough for that weather. A stray snowflake landed on his eyelash, and he blinked it away.

Kuina, and the string of profanities that left her mouth, seemed to be in a similar boat.

Zoro couldn’t help himself. “I told you to change your pants.”

“And I told you to bring a proper jacket!” She bit back.

A car crawled down the snowy side street. The driver must have been nervous on that icy asphalt.

“Want to catch a taxi?”

“You are a mind reader,” Zoro replied.

Despite the taxi’s pitiful heater going on full blast, Zoro was happy to finally arrive at the apartment complex. Once he was sure that no one was looking, he jumped up and down three times on the lush magenta rug. It was, quite possibly, the nicest thing in the lobby and he took great satisfaction in feeling the pellets of ice crunch off from the soles of his shoes. Zoro strolled up to the elevator, grateful for the fact that it hadn’t been jammed in his fire alarm incident and also that the wait gave him a couple of seconds to rest.

Maybe there was a treat waiting for him upstairs as well. The creaky elevator doors opened. Zoro stepped inside and pressed the glowing seven. As the elevator rose, it groaned so tremendously that Zoro worried that it might fall off its pulley. But the groaning subsided, and Zoro was let off without incident.

Even though there was no mystery treat outside of his door, Zoro could shake the feeling of good luck that had been following him for the last week or so. With no one else in the hallway, Zoro leaned his head in the direction of Sanji’s doorway. If the cook was making any sounds, he could not hear them. Oh well, hearing Sanji whip up the mystery treat would not make it come any faster, even if it would have been a treat in and of itself.

When he stepped inside his own apartment, Zoro shrugged off his bag and the zip-up, leaving them both in a heap by the door. It was embarrassing. Zoro had more respect for his home than that, and vowed to pick the items up after he made dinner. But he couldn’t be clean when he was shivering, sweaty, and starving.

Zoro bounded over to the fridge, not bothering to open up a YouTube video to fill the silence. A full fridge of cooked and pre-portioned CBR, mushy tangerines, and four days worth of mystery treats greeted him. Humming to himself, Zoro popped the lid off of his dinner. He would have to eat the blueberry muffin tonight because it wasn’t lasting another day and the last thing Zoro needed was another sick day.

Zoro spun around to the oven on beat with the corny ABBA song still playing in his head. For once home at a reasonable hour, a properly prepared dinner was almost a given. He threw the food into the oven without even waiting for it to pre-heat.

With the CBR cooking away, Zoro moved on to the second step of his great plan: washing off the stink of the day’s training.

His bathroom was cramped and musty. The counter’s decor – a toothbrush without a holder and neon orange bottle of dial soap – reflected Zoro’s impeccable interior design taste. He quickly undressed under the harsh orange light, ready to take a boiling hot shower after the chilly trip home. Despite his desire to warm his sore body, Zoro couldn’t help but take a moment to flex his muscles in the mirror. It had been ages since he took a long look at himself, but it was clear in the tiled bathroom that his training was having an impact.

Resting his flexed hand against the mirror and looking into his own eyes like they were some else’s, Zoro crooned, “So, how did you get these brownies white? Instead,” he stumbled, “Of their normal brown?” It came out awkward and uncertain rather than the suave that he had been hoping for.

A chill overtook Zoro and he yanked his hand back. What was he doing? He needed to take his hot shower, eat his dinner, and go to bed so that he’d be ready for the brutal conditioning scheduled for tomorrow. He had his future to think about, his promise to his gym! It didn’t matter if he was buff if he didn’t make those muscles do something and wooing hot guys didn’t count.

He gingerly stepped into the shower and pushed the facet as far left as it would go. The water peppered tiny kisses onto his tired body. Zoro had never cared about being suave before and there was no reason to care now. He needed to focus.

In his distraction, Zoro had let soapy water run from his hair into his eyes. He tried to rub the burn away, but all that did was lodge the soap even deeper. He rubbed even harder, the obvious solution.

Once he was absolutely certain that there was no more soap left, he carefully blinked his eyes open. Through the water pounding onto his face, he saw only total darkness. What the fuck? Had he been blinded by the soap? He was frantically rubbing his eyes a third time when the shower began to go cold.

That fucking snow storm.

Chapter Text

With only a straggly towel underneath him, Zoro stepped out of the shower wet. He looked in the mirror, stupidly, as if he could see his reflection any better than he could see his own hands in front of him or the off-white wall tiles. Still naked, he peeked his head out of the bathroom into the hallway, only to see the same pitch black darkness.

The frigid living room air rushed into the steamy bathroom, forcing Zoro to close the door. Was the rest of the building also dark? Or was it only his apartment?

He did not have time to feel around for a towel. The clean clothes stuck to his sopping wet body as he tried to shimmy them on. The sweat pants weren’t too bad, but his muscle shirt was brutal.

He ventured back into the hallway, this time ready for the cold. Tracing the wall’s path, Zoro found himself in the living room. The window to the balcony let in a much-appreciated stream of light from the city nightline. In the dimness, Zoro could more easily make his way to his house shoes. He would just pop out to get a sense of the situation and then pop back in.

He slipped the slides on and entered his apartment hallway. It was even darker than his living room, but for some reason Zoro didn’t turn around. With no one to see and no light to see him with, Zoro’s fingers brushed against Sanji’s door. What if Sanji’s house had been the sole apartment to keep its power? What if it had lost its power while Sanji was showering too, but instead of safely getting out, the sudden darkness made the cook slip and hit his head? Oh god, that would be terrible.

Zoro would just check in on the man. Nothing wrong with that! He was just being a good and thoughtful neighbor. In the dark, Zoro held his breath. He wasn’t nervous to knock. Not nervous at all, so he got over himself and gave two quick taps to the door. When that got no response, he knocked again one final time.

This seemed to be the magic number as the door quickly receded from his knuckles. He squinted to see the outline of what looked like bed head.

“What are you doing?” The cook spat with double his usual venom. Zoro flinched. This was a terrible idea.

“I wanted to see if your power was also out.”

“Okay.” The response was strangely strained, angry but airy.

Zoro stood still, waiting for the door to slam in his face, but it never came. Instead, the smell of an obviously recent cigarette wafted from Sanji’s body into the hallway. The longer he waited, the more his eyes acclimated to the darkness.

He could now see Sanji’s face which didn’t seem frustrated or even annoyed. Instead, his eyes looked pinched and tired. His teeth gnawed at his bottom lip. At Sanji’s defeated look, Zoro felt his chest tighten.

“Are you feeling,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “Alright?” A good neutral word that Sanji could not possibly latch onto.

This choice seemed to be the correct one as Sanji’s shoulders deflated. The anxiety that seemed to be animating him subsided, just barely.

“Honestly, I don’t like the power being out.”

It looked like he wanted to say something more, but ultimately decided not to. “And I don’t like the cold.” The words came out as vulnerable as Sanji looked. Zoro did not know what to do with this.

He looked past Sanji, as if that would save him from having to answer. Beyond the blonde's head, which looked more grey in the darkness, he could see the cook’s balcony window which was wide open, probably for a smoke.

“Well, what are you doing with your balcony open like that? Are you trying to cool down our entire complex?”

This failed to rile Sanji up. Instead, his shell shocked face only looked more defeated.

“I know I’ve kept my window closed. You will just have to warm up at mine after we close this window, cook.”

Zoro pushed past Sanji and mock-stomped over to the balcony before pulling the big bad window back down. There! Taken care of! With the light now shining on Sanji’s face instead of into Zoro’s, he could appreciate the way the cook’s eyes crinkled in relief.

Not wanting to overstay his rampage into this strangers’ house, Zoro quickly joined Sanji in the hallway.

“Do you need anything before coming over or?”

“I am good. Thank you.”

Zoro opened the door but Sanji didn’t enter. Instead he stood lifeless in the hallway like he was in another world completely. Unsure of what exactly to do, Zoro opted to offer his hand, which Sanji took without registering, and led the man into the house.

“I think I have more blankets than any man alive, so you chose the right neighbor.”

“I didn't choose you.” Sanji replied. The words sounded more like him, but his voice was still too airy. Zoro still chose to take this as a good sign.

“Why don’t you just sit on the mat and I’ll grab the blankets.”

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, it was relatively easy to make his way to the closet at the end of the hall. Not knowing how many blankets Sanji would need, Zoro grabbed all of them. This was probably good.

He teetered back to the living room, balancing the stack on his forearms. Self-consciously, he leaned forward and smelled the linen. Thank god for the fancy new detergent Kuina suggested, the blankets didn’t even smell like gym anymore.

“Here,” Zoro said, setting the lavender-scented blankets next to the seated man. When Sanji failed to remove his glossy gaze from the turned off television, Zoro stood back up. One by one, he gingerly laid the blankets around Sanji. The blanket from two months ago. The pride blanket gifted by Luffy. His first ever prize blanket.

After the fourth blanket, Zoro said, “Tell me when it starts to feel like a weighted blanket”. Even though the joke was stupid, Sanji chuckled. It was small and almost reflexive, but Zoro latched onto it. He piled on two more blankets, for good measure, and sat down with his own blanket next to Sanji.

Now, a good foot away from the cook, Zoro couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under Sanji’s eyes.

“You should stay here for a little longer. Heat,” Zoro positioned his hand parallel to the floor, “actually sinks.” He brought his hand to the floor. “And this mat is pretty damn close to the floor.”

At this the cook squinted like was taking in Zoro for the first time that night. From Zoro’s vantage point, it almost looked cute, the way the blond grimaced at Zoro from the safety of his blanket cocoon. He was probably warming up.

Sanji’s hand shot out, grasping Zoro’s forearm. Although he could have easily broken the hold, he allowed himself to be pulled closer to Sanji’s inquiring eyes.

“You’re wet.”

Without thinking, Zoro’s other hand went to the back of his head which was, as Sanji said, still wet.

“Yeah. I was taking a shower before the power went out.”

“At this time of night?”

“Yeah, well, I only just got back from the gym.” Zoro leaned back so that he was now laying on the mat. He was pleased to see Sanji follow his lead.

“Ah, so you’re a gym bro?” Sanji sounded disappointed.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but I am a martial artist.”

“Like the UFC?”

A refreshed wave of cold washed over Zoro. Sanji could not have known that any reminder of his upcoming fight was so unpleasant.

“Yeah, kind of like that.” After he beat Kaku, his answer to that question could be different, more proud. Although, of course, he was still proud of what he had put into it thus far.

But this had been the most responsive Sanji had been all night, so Zoro continued. He explained his years of training and about the semi-professional circuit. The more he talked, the more Sanji’s face melted. His eyes were slowly but surely lighting back up.

“And our gym is really nice. Everyone is really dedicated both to training and to each other. I am really grateful.” He ended his tangent rather lamely. But Sanji seemed more tethered than ever.

“And you? Why are you a mystery cook?”

“I’m not a cook?” Sanji looked offended.

“Uh…” Maybe the cold had impacted Sanji more than Zoro thought. “Yeah, you are.”

“No.” And finally, Sanji was there. With him. Fully. “I am not a cook, I bake if that’s what you mean.”

“Baking… cooking… they’re the same thing.”

“No, they are not.” Sanji was trying (and failing) to move his hands from within the cocoon. The awkward but angry flapping was almost cute. “Cooks, they just put anything in a pot and call it a day. Cooking is easy. Baking? Baking is a science. One wrong move, and the whole thing is fucked!”

“Like the eclairs?”

Sanji gritted his teeth. “Yes, like the eclairs.”

“But I was able to make the eclairs without a problem, so I must be better than a cook too, then.” Zoro made an effort to brush his hands through his hair. He hoped that Sanji could still see him flex his bicep in the dark of that room.

“Having seen the inside of your fridge, I seriously doubt it.”

At that reminder, Zoro leapt up, a fresh burst of cold seizing his wet skin. Sanji’s big curious eyes followed him. Fuck, he was such a bad host. He was totally blowing this.

“Would you like something to eat?” He walked over to the kitchen. “I know it’s late but I put dinner into the oven right before the power went out. It might still be warm.” He motioned over to one of the cabinets. “I also have protein bars, if you want more of a snack.”

“And you say you are not a gym bro.”

Cold tile ate away at the feeling in his feet. When he squinted, Zoro could see the bemused look on the cook’s face. That wasn’t an answer, this guy was so impossible.

“No. I don’t want your dinner nor do I want a protein bar. Now, stop standing there like an idiot and sit back down.”

Embarrassed, Zoro returned the mat. While he tried to tightly wrap his blanket around himself, it was no use. His wet skin ached with the cold.

“Didn’t you read the note?”

“Huh?”

“The note thatI left with my first round of baked goods?”

“Oh, the cookies,” Zoro’s eyes drifted over to the fridge, where the note was still pinned with magnet. His cheeks burned. Why had he kept that old thing?

“I had just moved here and I was doing a lot of stress baking, but obviously I didn’t have anyone to give the shit to.” Sanji had wormed his hands out of the blanket cocoon just enough to play with a raw string. “I guess you were just lucky enough to live next to me.”

“But why didn’t you stop?” Zoro tried to sound disinterested, like the question of why Sanji did end up stopping hadn’t plagued him for an embarrassingly long time.

“I don’t know, it just became part of my routine. I did give some of my pastries to the other residents – that’s how I met Nami, actually – but…” he trailed off. His spacey look wasn’t like the frightening one from before, but was, instead, almost nostalgic.

Zoro tried not to interrupt the cook’s train of thought, but he failed to stop his teeth from chattering. At this, Sanji turned to him curiously. How the fuck did the snow storm already drain the building of it’s heat.

Sanji begun to unwrap his own tangle of blankets. “Don’t just sit there, mosshead. I won’t take care of you again if you catch pneumonia being dumb.”

Zoro’s heart jumped into his throat. The cook had shed the layer of blankets, which Zoro had so painstaking wrapped him in. Only his oversized hoodie and running shorts protected his body from the cold. Then, he pulled a nauseous Zoro underneath the pile of blankets with him.

“There,” Sanji’s breath tickled Zoro’s eyelashes, “now I won’t have to listen to the annoying sound of you chattering.”

Zoro couldn’t even remember what it had felt like to be cold. From his cheeks to his ears to his toes, he burned. This close, Sanji’s hair smelled like a mix of cigarettes and vanilla, like the cookies he had probably baked earlier that day. Rigid, Zoro willed his core to keep him from touching the other man, despite the fact that there wasn’t a lot of room underneath the blankets where he could go.

“Besides, isn’t body heat supposed to be really good at keeping people warm.” Sanji nestled deeper into the blankets.

“I think so,” Zoro replied breathlessly. He didn’t know whether to hope that the heat radiating off of him was keeping Sanji warm or to hope that Sanji couldn’t feel his heat at all.

Having nestled well enough, Sanj returned to facing Zoro – who had, until that moment, been unabashedly staring at the other man. For some reason, Zoro didn’t turn away. He noticed the way Sanji’s curled up and the freckle that he had right underneath of his right eyes. Zoro imagined letting up, as anyone without his level of conditioning would have already done, and letting his body brush up against the other man.

“So you just moved here?”

“From the west coast.”

“Why?”

“A new job.”

“Makes sense. Why didn’t you just give your coworkers the cookies?” Zoro was hyper aware his own breath, hoping that it wasn’t too hot and that it smelled fine.

“Um… My job is mostly remote, I only go into the office like once a month.”

“Mostly remote, but you had to move across the country?”

“Yes, don’t be a dick. I’ve wanted to work here for years, Zoro.”

“Hey, I’m just curious!” It didn’t look like Sanji believed him, “You’ve wanted to work there for years? Must be a special job.”

“It is.”

“Care to share?” Sanji glared at him, “Since, you now know way too much about the world of semi-professional martial arts?”

“Well, it’s a non-profit-“

“A non-profit?”

“Like a company organized around a social good rather than a product or service’s profit. We’re dedicated to tackling childhood hunger in America.” He finished defensively.

“Wait, that’s so cool! How do you do that?”

At this, Sanji's eyes light up the dark. Excitedly, he turned onto his back, his arm brushing against Zoro’s abs as he did so.

“Well, I’m a fundraiser. So I’m basically responsible for making sure we actually have the money to do what we do. But our mission is really split into four prongs. Most importantly, we try to bring awareness to the fact that childhood hunger is still a huge issue in America (did you know that nearly 14 million kids here are food insecure? And that’s the ones we can measure, Zoro!). We also advocate for better school meal policies and for social safety net design that properly emphasize the experience of children. And, then finally, we provide logistical support to various food banks across the country.”

He waved his hands passionately as he spoke.

“Wow.” Zoro hadn’t expected all of that. He was shocked that someone like that was laying on his living room mat. “I’m glad there is an organization like that. A lot of kids don’t get the support they need, and too few adults step-up for them the way they need to.”

Sanji whipped his head back over to Zoro. “Exactly! Children need advocates, and I really am so lucky that I can contribute to that kind of mission.”

Suddenly, Zoro had become aware of that fact that, in his intent listening, his body had melted into the other man’s. While the realization burned at Zoro’s skin and jumbled his insides, he couldn’t focus on that as Sanji continued to excitedly explain the various parts of their organization. Soon, Sanji transitioned to the stresses of fundraising, how stressful it was to know that the success of the mission and the wellness of the kids they served, rested so squarely on his efforts.

Although it wasn’t the same, Zoro found himself relating. When he was in the ring, he wasn't just fighting for himself, but for his entire gym. That pressure was enough by itself, he couldn’t imagine it being amplified by the knowledge that millions of children’s well-being was also on the line. No wonder Sanji seemed so tired.

The longer the conversation became, the more and more comfortable Sanji became, and the closer and closer their bodies became. When they finally fell asleep, Sanji’s head was carefully resting on Zoro’s shoulder and his ankle just barely crossed Zoro’s leg.

Zoro slept like a baby.

Chapter Text

Zoro was going to kill Kuina or maybe Kuina would be responsible for his closing chores for the next month. Either way, she needed to pay for the small fingers viciously gripping his forearm.

“Here we go!” Zoro bellowed before shaking his body, the children who were dangling off of his arms shrieked in joy. When the laughter died down, the kids latched on and cried for him to do it again.

“Okay, but this is the last time,” he conceded with minimal prodding and spun in circles until every small hand had let go of his arms and every small child landed firmly on their bottom. Their laughter cut through the dank gym.

Tired, Zoro looked up to make eye contact with Kuina who was also laughing, not at the game but at her friend. Carefully, Zoro stepped around the piles of energetic kids and walked to the edge of the mat.

“You try being a human jungle gym, see if you’re laughing then.”

“Oh Zoro,” she wiped a tear from her eye, “Why do you think I asked you to help?”

He glared at her. The next time she texts him in a panic because the other children’s instructor couldn’t come to class, he would turn his phone off and go out for kebabs.

With her teacher voice, Kuina turned back to the children, “Hey guys, I know it’s really exciting that coach Zoro helped you warm up your grip strength but that doesn’t mean we can act like we’ve never been on the mat before.” The kids, obedient for Kuina, nodded and settled down.

Zoro stepped into his off-mat shoes before walking to the cubbies. Practice hadn’t even started and he already needed water. How did Kuina do this every day? Before grabbing his plastic water bottle, he discretely checked his phone and an immediate smile spread across his face. Sanji had texted him back. This wasn’t why Zoro wanted to check his cubby – if that was the case, it would have been totally unprofessional – but he didn’t even formally work there and already seen the text. It wouldn’t hurt to reply. Quickly, he opened up the message.

Omg so you’re a coach????????? You should have told me that!

Zoro’s ears burned as he pondered his reply.

Not really… But they’re practically family so I help out when needed.

He waited for a second. Did that message make it seem like he wanted the conversation to be over? He should follow up with a question just in case.

How is that grant going?

There! Zoro was still smiling when he put his phone down. Unlike the first time that he had the cook over, the night of the power outage had ended with them exchanging numbers.

They didn’t talk about cuddling under Zoro’s piles of blankets, but they did talk about practically everything else. Sanji’s job, Zoro’s training, the newest recipes Sanji was trying. Zoro learned that Sanji’s favorite movie was Wall-E and shared his own love for Brazilian hip hop. They texted before Zoro went on his run, before the first class of the day, in between all of Zoro’s other classes, during Zoro’s lunch break, and after Zoro returned to the apartment. After a couple of nights of their non-stop texting, Zoro had found himself wondering why they bothered with texting when he could, at any moment, simply walk into his neighbor’s house.

Zoro absentmindedly adjusted his lunch box. Frequent conversations with the cook also meant that he was able to put in requests when it came to mystery treats. Making them less mysterious, but somehow more delicious.

He checked one last time to see no immediate reply from Sanji before turning back around to join the class on the mat. The kids were just finishing up the last of warm ups.

Obediently, they lined themselves up in front of Kuina. Zoro quickly joined her side.

“Today we are going to work on armbars.”

Zoro could see the way some of the more experienced kids deflated.

Trying to support Kuina, he added, “It is a classic for a reason. You can never practice it enough.” At this, the bored kids perked up and the already engaged kids leaned further in. It was scary to know he had that sort of sway. No one should listen to him, especially not kids.

“Great point coach Zoro! Now we are going to go through the movement right now. If at any point you feel confused, ask me or Zoro a question. Not only is practice the time to learn, but it is also critical that we roll safely and don’t accidentally injure our friends.”

Zoro stage nodded to Kuina’s lecture before positioning himself to be her living dummy.

“While the armbar has many starting points, we will be starting today’s armbar practice in guard.”

She grabbed Zoro’s lapel and brought him into her guards. Behind him, her feet clasped.

“Now everyone notices how my feet are holding him close to me? Why is that important?”

The kids shouted back, “He could break your guard!”

As a reward to the students who knew the answer and a visual demonstration to those who didn’t, Zoro made a great show of pushing past Kuina’s limp legs – now unlocked for the demonstration – and assuming a position of power. Making eye-contact with Rika, the most dedicated kid in the gym, he smiled before returning to Kuina’s guard.

From there, she guided the students step-by-step through the process of armbaring. While he exaggerated the incorrect motions and forms whenever prompted, most of the demonstration consisted of Kuina throwing him around. Between her precision and grip strength, she guided his body into uncomfortable positions again and again with minimal effort.

Each time a kid threw up their arm in an attempt to clarify their curiosity, Zoro felt a pang of pride. These kids felt comfortable asking questions and having their concerns answered. With nothing else to think of (besides Kuina ragdolling him, which wasn’t any fun) he found his mind wandering into dark corners. How many of these bright and talented students only felt comfortable in this gym? Safe? Hopefully, none. Yet, he couldn’t help but see his own face in the sea of diligently listening kids.

Zoro had a hard time returning back to himself, even if Kuina had successfully returned him to his feet. She clapped her hands, dispersing the students to their various corners to begin practicing what they had seen with their own bodies.

Zoro leaned over, “I’m glad you still do the community program.”

She looked back at him with an uncharacteristically sweet smile, “Me too, dork.”

In front of them, a white belt was attempting something that definitely was not an armbar and definitely would end in injury.

“But the free training doesn’t do shit with shit coaches, so I’m gonna need you to clock in, Coach Zoro.” She laughed at him before walking over to correct the struggling student’s form.

Chapter Text

The carrots on the counter. The homemade jerky to the right (how did Zoro ever get through cuts before Jim and Betty started going to their gym?). He eyeballed the microwave, where the rhythmic popping corn still pulsed. Good. He wasn’t planning on setting off the fire alarm anytime soon.

Not knowing what else to do, Zoro crossed his arms. The mats were all ready, with 15 minutes worth of careful blanket architecture. The scary UFC piracy website was already pulled up with all of its pornographic pop-ups clicked through.

He swung open the microwave door long before the machine had the chance to beep or the contents to burn, and poured the popcorn into his red Tupperware – classily repurposed as a popcorn bucket. Now, there really was nothing else left to do. He checked his phone.

The only text was Sanji’s “Just got off of work, heading your way now!” from fifteen minutes earlier. Zoro didn’t even have the chance to revel in the butterflies the message gave him, because what he did not see was a message explaining Kuina’s absence. That brat.

He pulled up her contact and clicked FaceTime.

“Where the hell are you?!” He squawked the moment she answered.

Kuina looked at him sheepishly. Her eyes were smokey and her bob was pinned back. He was going to kill her. She never dressed up for fight night.

“You bastard, you’re not coming.” The words came out somewhere between a question and a statement of disbelief.

“I’m sorry.” She drew out the final syllable. “I was just about to text you, I swear.” At least, this sounded genuine.

Zoro brought the phone closer to his face, as if he needed to be discreet in the empty apartment. “You knew that Sanji is coming tonight.”

She shut up an eyebrow. “But I thought Sanji was ‘just a friend’.” Damn, Zoro hated her stupid impersonation of him.

“Yeah, he is. But we haven't properly hung out yet.”

“What would you call the last two times he was at your house? Or the last eight phone calls I’ve had to hear about?”

“That’s different, you brat!” Closer, now, to the screen, Zoro could see the dark circles under his own eyes.

“Well, Miguel,” she wiggled her brows at the name of the guest fighter who had been visiting at their gym, “Needs help finding a good restaurant in the area.”

“Can’t Luffy just help him? He’s been here more than enough times to know where to eat.” The flyweight would be in town for his own residency until the end of winter.

“Sadly, Luffy isn’t a beautiful young lady who Miguel would ‘like to get to know better’.”

Damn. Kuina had Zoro beat. He knew how hard it was to secure a date when you trained as much as they both did. And Kuina had a massive crush on the visiting heavyweight. All Zoro wanted her for was a support on a friend-hangout.

“You now owe me two, K.”

Kuina’s thanks and apologies were so loud that Zoro had to shout to add, “And take him to the pizza place on E street, he’ll like it.”

Several more thank yous and the phone call was over.

“I can’t even drink before he gets here,” Zoro pouted to the empty room. Without his friend for emotional support, he felt self conscious. What if this time Sanji came over to Zoro’s place and decided that he didn’t like it? What if Sanji laughed at his snacks? Or thought Zoro smelled? Oh god, did Zoro smell?

He tried to sniff his hoodie. It didn’t smell bad. He had done his laundry that morning and, yes, he had showered immediately after training. He even used the coconut lotion he won in the gym’s last secret Santa. There was no reason for him to smell bad.

Still, his legs led him away from his kitchen and into his bedroom, which was as bare as the rest of the house. The bed, whose blankets and pillows had already been stripped for the living room fort, sat across the dresser where Zoro stored everything he didn’t use everyday. From pens to passports, the plywood box would have what he needed.

Yanking open the first dresser drawer proved futile. The second drawer, with the addition of some scrambling on Zoro’s part, produced a small cologne bottle. Spritzing between the ears like he had once seen in the locker room, Zoro was satisfied.

He was absentmindedly watching the pre-fight slop when the knock finally came. His muscles fought against Zoro’s leisurely pace as he walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it.

Sanji practically glowed under the hallway lights. Obviously not having changed from the work day, he stood sheepishly in his well-fitting slacks and a button up. Immediately, Zoro’s mind went to the gym shorts and hoodie that he was wearing. God, should he have dressed up?

Pink, Sanji asked, “Where should I put this?” The aluminum covered plate in his hands seemed to call Zoro’s name. Fuck, he hated making weight.

“I’ll put it on the counter. I might not be able to eat much be-“

“I know. You told me that you were losing weight for your fight.”

In an unexpected bout of confidence, Zoro retorted with, “Don’t worry, I’m still keeping my muscle,” and a wink. GOD, why had he done that? That didn’t even make sense.

The red hot humiliation wracking Zoro from his toes to his fingers, which were now curled around the plate, seemed to have no impact on Sanji who was in the process of kicking off his shoes.

“What I was saying was, I know. So I tried to make something a little on the healthier side.”

With a manicured hand, Sanji peeled back the silver foil to reveal a pile of oatmeal wads. The surprising smell of cinnamon wafted up from the plate.

“They’re like three ingredients, so they shouldn’t mess anything up.”

“Wow!” The hoodie Zoro was wearing suddenly felt all too hot. “Thank you, cook.”

“Baker!”

He turned around to the counter, hoping Sanji would know to follow him. Zoro was quickly approaching his word limit for the day and alcohol would not be there to lubricate his rusty social gears.

“Here are the snacks, eat whatever you want. The jerky was made by one of the couples who go to my gym. You can also have what’s in the fridge if you’re in the mood for chicken, rice, and broccoli.”

Zoro opened the fridge, as if to show that he wasn’t lying both about his openness and the sad state of his meal plan.

“I bought beer and that wine you said you liked, but I won’t be drinking so you just help yourself whenever.”

He turned his head back to a bemused Sanji, standing arms length away with his hands in his pockets.

“And your friends?”

“Are not coming. Luffy’s on some side quest to taste test the delis in a mile radius of the gym and Kuina is a traitor.”

Sanji grabs a stray carrot from the paper plate. “You don’t have to keep staging elaborate ruses to enjoy my company.”

His cheeks to his neck burn. Sanji was impossible. “This isn’t a ruse! They really were supposed to come!” he squawked at an unbudging Sanji. His blue eyes crinkled in amusement. That prick.

Wanting to get some semblance of an upper hand, Zoro continued, “You can be as annoying as you want. But you’re not going to make us miss the first fight!”

Zoro sprinted past the suited man towards the light switch. With the room successfully darkened, he dived onto the mat, grabbing all of the blankets, so that the nuisance would have none. Slowly, Sanji followed. The television glowed with pre-fact fights and commercials at a surprisingly high quality.

When the fight finally started, Zoro had sprawled completely against the mat while Sanji remained neatly folded into a crisscross position. Still, Sanji’s left knee occasionally brushed against Zoro’s right shoulder, sending shivers down his whole body. If only Zoro had the good sense to wear a tank top instead of a hoodie.

“What’s happening?”

“So this is the Prelims, the fighters who are just beginning to break into the pay per view scene.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That,” he pointed to the glowering face on the screen, “Is Kuro. He’s the underdog for this fight.” The lanky man raised his arms to the roaring crowd. As he walked to the pentagon, the bright area lights flinted off his glasses. He hit one last pose, a menacing feline position, before the walk out music stopped.

“He’ll have to take off his glasses before he fights but I think that’s a part of his shtick.”

“There are shticks? Walking down the runway to their favorite songs in their special outfits feels kind of gay. You sure the UFC is homophobic?”

“Sanji!”

The refs were patting down Kuro, now stripped to his valetudo shorts.

“It is definitely gay and you definitely cannot say that to any MMA bros. Not unless I’m around to defend your puny ass.”

“Do you think they would know what I meant if I called it camp?”

“I don’t even know what that means, but let’s not try it.”

Sanji, horrified, revoked Zoro’s queer card as the next round of walk out music started to buzz out of the shitty television speaker. A somber looking man stepped onto the screen, not stopping to wave at the audience or the camera.

“That’s the favorite to win this fight. Arlong, I think.”

The name flashing across the screen confirmed Zoro’s statement.

“Oh, it’s cool that he’s wearing traditional fishman clothes.” The floral coat waved as Arlong stomped to the pentagon. His long dark hair was tucked into two braids so tight they stayed still as he walked.

“Yeah, a lot of the fighters do. I think they see it as a way to promote their culture to a larger audience.”

“When you make it to the UFC, are you gonna walk the runway wearing a knicks hat and those booty shorts for the culture?” Sanji giggled.

“First of all, those are Valetudo shorts. And second of all, I might!” Zoro certainly would not be doing that, but he was glad that Sanji was enjoying himself.

Then, the fight started.

At first, it was fun, explaining what was happening as they watched. Arlong started off aggressive, which was interesting given the reputation that Kuro has already made for his fighting endurance. If he didn’t end the fight fast, he would be essentially giving the win to the underdog. Relentless annoyance. Paws and deflected jabs, again and again. And Sanji looked genuinely interested.

“You can kick in the UFC right?”

“Yeah, you can. I am actually surprised that Arlong hasn’t tried to, yet.”

Zoro turned his eyes to Sanji whose face seemed to beam with pride until it suddenly flinched. He snapped his gaze back to the screen, where Kuro was standing dazed and with a bloody nose. The announcers scrambled to be the first to say what a powerful left hook Arlong had just landed.

This opening seemed to be what the fighter needed. Arlong began a barrage on his opponent, seemingly taking Sanji’s advice to start using his legs. With each strike, Zoro could feel Sanji violently recoil as if he had been the one hit. It should have been nice, the blonde cowering into his side for support, but it felt wrong. This was supposed to be fun!

When the first round ended, the two fighters went into their corners. Even from the bird's eye camera angle, the splotches of dark blood on the white pentagon floor were immediately visible. The close up of Arlong’s corner, where his team was dribbling water into his open mouth, revealed that Kuro hadn’t as much as nicked the man. This rendered the following close up of Kuro and his crooked bleeding nose even more painful to look at.

Although Sanji had been silent since Arlong’s first strike, Zoro felt compelled to open his mouth. “Don’t worry, the prelims are only 3 rounds so, at worst, this shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Sanji nodded, dazed. At this point the blonde had almost migrated into Zoro’s lap.

The next round started where the last one left off. Arlong continued to pound Kuro, until they were both on the ground.

“Get out of his mount.” Zoro whispered to Kuro, willing the other man to take advantage of Arlong’s sloppy grappling technique.

Arlong swiped again and again for Kuro’s arms, obviously hoping to put the man in some sort of limb lock. He reached a final time, accidentally raising his butt from Kuro’s hips.

Kuro took advantage of the moment. Pushing away from Arlong's body and escaping the mount. Without enough time to return to his feet, he wrapped his legs around Arlong’s torso.

“At least he was in a position of power now.” Zoro mumbled, again more to himself than anyone else.

But for some reason, Arlong put a knee up. Then, another. Then, he stood, bringing Kuro with him. The bloodied man gripped tightly onto Arlong’s neck with his hands and hips with his feet, not yet ready to let go.

Then, Arlong went down with a crack. Sanji gasped.
That wasn’t a standard takedown and Kuro’s neck was now bent at a sickening angle. Even Zoro, who had watched thousands of fights, felt his stomach drop.

Arlong had purposely crashed down on the man’s head. That was terrible. That was career ending. Almost as an absolutely unnecessary confirmation of the thoughts racing through Zoro’s head, the medic jumped into the cafe and ran to Kuro. The cameras cut to the commentators.

Chapter Text

Sanji turned to Zoro with a look of shock and fear on his face.

“That’s really not normal. I’m so sorry.” He scrambled for the remote, but between the masterfully crafted blanket pile and the fact that Sanji had practically migrated onto his lap, the search was too slow. The television showed Kuro being escorted out on a striped stretcher.

Zoro exited out of full view but the piracy website chose that moment to berate them with the pornographic pop-ups. As he clicked out of “sexy MILFs in your area”, the tepid sound of Mihawke’s voice cut through, “It is too early to identify any specific injury, but, trust, we are taking this matter seriously.”

With the somber words, Zoro successfully freed them from the last of the ads and the gruesome image. The grey waiting screen bounced off of Sanji's repulsed face.

“Most fights are not like that.”

“I’m sure.” At this point, Sanji was back firmly on the mat and Zoro’s lap ached in the absence. This was going terribly. So much for breaking the barrier between the two men.

Mindlessly,Zoro scrolled through the options on the screen. Definitely not the piracy website, again. Not YouTube where his entire feed was UFC commentary. The cursor paused at the Movies icon. Hadn’t he purchased Wall-E after their first real phone call?

Almost to confirm what he knew to be true, Zoro clicked. Sure enough, the friendly robot’s face rewarded his efforts. He turned over to Sanji who looked slightly less exhausted with the movie poster’s reflection bouncing off his eyes. Zoro could still save the night.

“How about we watch this instead?”

The cook almost fell over in shock. “No! What about your fight?”

“What about it? Kuina’s going to make me watch the reruns of it all anyways, besides I still haven’t been able to watch this movie.”

Sanji raised his eyebrow.

“Would you really be able to live with yourself if you kept me from watching the ‘best movie ever’?” Zoro mimicked Sanji’s stupid voice. The man’s shoulders relaxed.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re right. I couldn’t do that to you.

Satisfied, Zoro clicked play.

He could not believe he hadn’t seen the movie before. The robot was literally him. Doing the same things every day without knowing whether it would ever lead to anything. The work needed to be done, and that was reason enough.

Zoro blanched at the thought of no longer being able to work as a fighter. He would cease to be himself. It was impossible. Unlike the robot, who used his work to find what he loved. Zoro’s work was the love.

Without the stress of a brutal fight, the two men had melted back into the mat – finding themselves laying with a stack of blankets as an impromptu headrest. With Zoro’s hands behind his head, Sanji was free to nestle into the whole of the man’s side, eventually landing his head onto Zoro’s chest. He was actually a genius for choosing the thick cotton hoodie.

When EVE crash-landed, Zoro couldn’t help but steal a glance at Sanji who was, for some reason, looking right back at him. Their eyes did not meet for more than a millisecond before Zoro darted his gaze back to screen with burning cheeks. His body was going to have to start coming up with more creative responses to the annoying cook.

Delicate fingers wrapped themselves around Zoro’s hoodie strings. As the poor little robot searched for its love, Sanji lifted the fabric up and down. By the time the characters reunited, the cook was gently tracing the logo on Zoro’s hoodie. Fighter quest, again and again, with light touches. He shivered.

As the credits began to roll, Sanji perked back up.

“What did you think? I’m obviously not a fan of the ableist turn it took in the climax but, wow, even you have to acknowledge that this movie was pretty good.”

Sanji continue to gush, flapping his hands in excitement. Zoro struggled to follow the entirety of the political tangent, but it didn’t bother him. Sanji’s eyes sparkled and Zoro nodded, that’s all he needed to do. When Sanji stop, his breath was shallow with excitement. Expectant eyes looked into Zoro’s own.

“No! Yes! Exactly! The movie was actually good. You surprised me.”

“Funny, mosshead.”

“I know,” Zoro teased, trying hard to hide the smile taking over his face. “But seriously it is so crazy to think that everyone on the ship was so okay with doing nothing. I can’t imagine not wanting to be a fighter.” It was now his turn the fiddle with Sanji’s clothing. His callous fingers ran over the grooves on the cook’s ornate dress shirt buttons. “It’s my life, why I get up every morning.”

He was too embarrassed to see how Sanji reacted to such a confession. While he happily talked about fighting with anyone who would listen, he had never been so frank about what it had meant to him before. Even with Kuina, they refrained from most serious topics unless it was an absolute necessity. He felt closer to Sanji than he could ever get cuddling on the mat.

The hollow melancholy of the end credits caressed Zoro’s ears. He closed his eyes, trying to hear the sounds of the city. Behind the airy violin was a long angry honk, sounds about right.

“Me too.” Sanji’s pensive voice brought Zoro’s eyes open. The man looked thoughtful, even with only the credits illuminating his face. “As corny it sounds, I don’t know who I would be if I wasn’t fighting for child welfare.”

Zoro’s stomach fluttered. It was so great being able to share his dreams with someone who cared just as deeply and fought just as hard for what he thought was right.

“Way to upstage me, cook.”

“Thanks, that’s what I was going for.” Zoro waited for Sanji to complain about his moniker but he stayed lost in his thoughts, “I’m going to need a lot of fight if I’m going to figure this out.”

Zoro pushed the hair out of Sanji’s eyes, revealing a furrowed pair of brows. For a second, he considered pressing, asking. But Sanji seemed so determined that such questioning couldn’t be what he needed. Zoro was content to just lay there and wait, Sanji would tell him.

“Funding has just taken a major fucking hit. Small dollar donations have slowed to an almost standstill and Zeff wants me to figure out how we are going to surpass last year's numbers. I can’t blame him, it’s vital for the mission but it’s still a lot”

Unlike before, Sanji was absolutely motionless as he explained the problem. Zoro wasn’t surprised. It seemed like every time he texted the man, something was going wrong at work. He brought his hand to Sanji’s fidgeting ones.

“That sounds like a lot. What are you going to do?”

“What am I not going to do?” Sanji let out a humorless laugh. “I’m going to start by having the hell out of some meetings with marketing to get everyday people excited to donate. If that doesn’t work I will have to figure something else out.”

Zoro bit his lip. He wanted to say, “It seems like you always do,” but something stopped him. Instead they laid and watched the small names scroll down the screen until the movie was truly over.

Chapter Text

Zoro woke up in a cold sweat. Heart pounding. The darkness of the room and the sweatiness of his special blankets trapped him.

It was just a dream.

Relax, Zoro. He needed to escape from the grip of the covers. One blanket, then another, and then Zoro’s skin was greeted by the brisk bedroom air.

He hadn’t fought Kaku, yet. He hadn’t lost in front of his idol. He hadn’t been forced to retire from fighting. He hadn’t let down the community that saw a scrawny struggling kid and worked to give him a future. He hadn’t disappointed the kids at the gym who saw him as something to hope for.

It was just a dream.

Still, that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. Zoro slinked out of bed and onto the near-by floor. Rolling onto his belly, Zoro engaged the fibers of his body.

Push-ups, up and down. It was just a dream, but he hadn’t won yet either. His nose met the ground. His elbows straightened. It was just pre-fight nerves, something about cutting weight left him like an overstretched rubber band, always ready to snap. His chest touched the floor.

Zoro did twenty-eight more push-ups before stopping. His arms barely even ached, a sign his training was working. Yet, he was still satisfied. If there were more nightmares, they wouldn’t come that night. He had done his push-ups and continued to relentlessly pursue his trading, that was all that could be done for now.

The blankets welcomed him with a newfound kindness and Zoro wondered how they had ever felt constricting. As he nestled into his bed, a wave of relaxation was accompanied by the faint clinking of pots and pans. His exhausted brain definitely imagined it, but the idea of Sanji diligently cooking was indeed enduring. One day maybe they would cook together.

In the meantime, Zoro drifted to sleep wondering what movie they should watch next. Enter the Dragon? No. The cook didn’t seem to be a big fan of excessive violence, so maybe a studio Ghibli film? Something sweet, for sure.

Chapter Text

Zoro shoveled spoonfuls of lettuce into his mouth, with only the occasional stray leaf falling into his lap. He only had five minutes to finish eating before the next class started, and this one was too important to miss. So what if the newbies were staring at him with a mix of shock and awe? It was probably mostly awe anyways.

Although making weight was never pleasant, it was far more bearable with the various lunch-boxes Sanji prepared in liu of mystery treats. That man could make chicken, broccoli, and rice taste interesting.

Just as Zoro swallowed the last bit of salmon, for what was probably a record breaking lunch time, the locker room door behind him creaked open. Slowly, he turned his head, and quickly his heart stopped.

In the doorway Sanji stood, fidgeting with his gi. Not his gi, Zoro’s hand-me-down gi. A beautiful black thing, worn at the elbows and knees with age. It somehow hung off his body despite showing far too much of the man’s pale wrists and ankles.
“Lunch was great.”

“Yeah.”

If Zoro squinted, it seemed like Sanji was blushing.

“Is it supposed to-“

“It fits perfect, cook.”

Zoro noticed the white strip of fabric that Sanji clenched in his fists.

“Too dumb to tie the belt?”

The lunch box in Zoro’s hands dropped with a clatter as he rushed to grab the belt from Sanji. He pulled the cook closer and wrapped the fabric around his waist. A good student, Sanji’s body melted as Zoro tugged at his waist, making it far easier to tie the belt.

“Here, you start like this and then,” he quickly made the complicated knot, “you tie it. And make sure it’s always on the left side or I won’t claim you.”

Zoro could hear the nonsensicality of his explanation as he gave it, but tying his belt was beyond second nature. How could he be expected to explain it? Besides, he wouldn’t mind helping Sanji gear up before every session – if this ended up being something the man liked.

When he pulled away, Sanji’s face was an even brighter red. Still, he tried to mime Zoro’s motions, failing miserably.

While the fighter was distracted, two pairs of arms threw themselves around his torso.

“Zoro!” Kuina shrieked. She removed herself from the hug and turned her attention to Sanji, as if she had only just noticed him. There was no way she hadn’t not plotted to be there.

“And you must be Sanji! I’ve heard so many good things about you!” She turned to the crowd of men by the front desk and shouted, “Luffy! Sanji is finally here!”

The idiot popped his head out of the pile of people and bounded over, almost tackling Sanji in excitement.

“Hi Sanji! I’m Luffy, Zoro’s best friend.” Kuina slugged his shoulder but he continued, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come watch the fight with you the other week, but when food calls I must answer.”

Sanji laughed, either uncomfortable with the onslaught of attention or the mention of the fight they had watched together. Since that night, Sanji seemed uninterested in watching any more UFC. Zoro didn’t mind, especially because, in place of the fights, they were having near daily movie nights.

“Yeah, sorry about that. But I cannot believe you let Zoro drag you out here!”

“Yeah,” this time the chuckle was more genuine, “Me neither. As long as I don’t get hurt- “

Zoro didn’t want the man to worry. “This is a beginners class, it will be fun.”

“Besides you’ll have the best coach ever,” Kuina said with a wink. “Speaking of which,” she raised her voice, "Everybody! Training starts soon.” Lowering her voice back down, she said, “It was really great getting to meet you. Hopefully, we can chat more after class.”

Kuina and Luffy walked towards the center of the mat. They whispered and giggled with each other as the rest of the students lined up in front of the coaches for the class. As the highest ranking student, Zoro made his way to the front of the line, only for Sanji to trail behind him.

“Sanji,” he whispered, “White belts are on the other side!”

Sanji scurried over to the smiling line of white belts, many of whom had made similar mistakes at their first class. When they bowed, Sanji was late to go down and come up. Running the warm-up laps around the mat, Zoro quickly caught up to Sanji who, despite his smoking habit, showed decent cardio. It was harder for Zoro to keep his eye on Sanji after they started their stretches. As he touched his toes in the first row of students, he had to trust the cook was keeping up.

“Good warm-up everybody, get water if you need it.”

A small hand tugged at his gi sleeve as Zoro tried to walk over to the cubbies. He turned around to see Kuina and Luffy’s shit eating grins.

“Your boyfriend is so cute!” Kuina excitedly whispered.

“Yeah, way out of your league!” Luffy agreed.

“He is not,” Zoro hissed, “my boyfriend. We are just friends.”

They stared back at him with blank faces.

“Well, I think you should help K demonstrate today to show off for your boyfriend.”

“Great idea, Luffy!”

“You brat! You’re just trying to get out of getting thrown around by Kuina!”

“And you’re just extra grumpy because you’re making weight,” Kuina cut in, defending Luffy.

Luffy stuck out his tongue as the students began to trickle back to the mat. Quickly, Zoro found Sanji and sat down. As Kuina greeted the class, Zoro tried to look very interested in the grooved fabric covering Sanji’s knee.

“Zoro, will you help me today?” Kuina called out, interrupting his thoughts.

Fifteen curious students and one intrigued cook snapped their heads to look at him. Zoro’s neck burned. As he shuffled awkwardly to the front of the group, Zoro thought of potential ways to get back at Kuina the next time they conditioned together. He was definitely going to make her do a burpee circuit.

He could demonstrate, especially for an entry level class even after a whole day of brutal sparring, so his mind and his eyes naturally began to wonder. It didn’t mean anything that they settled on Sanji’s concentrated face. The way the gears turned, right behind his eyes as if he was already making and refining mental notes, Zoro had only seen when the blond brought up his work woes. As Kuina gave tips, Sanji mouthed them. When she moved her body, he quietly mimed it from his seat on the mat. The man was a natural.

Zoro knew Sanji was smart. Not just because of his job and the incredible care he put into it, but more so from the relentlessly analytical way he approached everything, from baking to movies. That skillset would be extremely valuable if he ended up being actually interested in fighting.

As Kuina manipulated Zoro’s body and threw him around, his eyes remained fixed on the sharp features of his friend. It was nice to really see Sanji without the pressure of having him look back. Maybe, Luffy was onto something.

When Kuina pulled him up the final time, there wasn’t a doubt of who he would select as that class's training partner. Grabbing Sanji’s sleeve, Zoro glided to his favorite spot on the mat. The man stood motionlessly, probably confused but definitely too embarrassed to admit it. He always seemed so confident and in control, it was cute to see him new to something – especially something Zoro loved as much as grappling.

Determined to make this as painless for him as possible, Zoro took charge. “You go first.”

Sanji laid onto his back, big eyes following on Zoro as he got into position. Even this was awkward. The beginner was still wrongly propped on his arms and his legs weren’t active at all. Zoro held his tongue. Suggestions could come after Sanji got a feel for grappling. Making too many corrections now would just squash his interest.

So Zoro followed, sitting on Sanji’s lower stomach. His knees hugged the man’s sides closely, but not so tight as to make his escape (the point of the exercise) pointless.

“Now, get out of my mount.”

Sanji furrowed his brows, mirroring the look of concentration Zoro had seen on him 5 minutes prior, and began to buck. He thrashed his hips up and down, trying to shake the season fighter off of him.

While he was surprisingly good at creating space, he hadn’t yet used that space to get away. So, Sanji continued to thrust his hips, creating space, and Zoro continued to close the gaps.

Although Zoro had gone through these motions a thousand times, something about the way Sanji was moving underneath him made his mouth go dry. Fuck, Sanji looked kind of cute underneath him. He needed to keep his mind on the exercise, this was so unprofessional.

Sanji successfully bucked the disoriented Zoro onto his hands, even if his butt remained glued to the man’s core. This change of weight distribution brought Zoro’s face dangerously close to Sanji’s blue eyes and pink lips. The fire in his stomach roared.

Sanji stopped bucking. His breaths were now soft, and his eyes even softer. Zoro leaned slightly forward. The smell of cigarettes tickled his chin.

And, then, there was no wind in his lungs.

Sanji, it seemed, had taken advantage of Zoro’s distractedness to shrimp away and throw the man onto his side. While he was supposed to follow that by pinning Zoro with a side mount – hence, finishing the maneuver – he instead shot his arms into the air in celebration.

“I actually got you, Moss!”

Zoro couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Beginners luck, cook. I wanna see you do it again.”

The grinning Sanji returned to his back, ready to throw the man again.

Chapter Text

With the fight rapidly closing in on Zoro, longer and longer days were spent in the gym. Of course, its outcome was determined by his training months ago and not whatever he could do at the last minute – but still, Zoro would claw his way to any advantage he could reach. Maybe that was why he hadn’t seen Linda when entering the building, it was so late even she had gone to sleep.

The elevator door opened with a ping and Zoro stepped out onto the 7th floor. Like a zombie, he stumbled to the grey apartment door. Good thing he ate dinner before his last session of the day, the last thing he wanted to do was cook – even if all it took was a simple microwaving of Sanji’s perfectly prepared leftovers.

Yet, Zoro’s hand did not reach forward to turn the handle and end the day. Sanji’s door, standing right next to his own, was the exact same shade of landlord grey. There was no reason for Zoro to be staring at it, but something pulled him to the slab of cheap wood.

Sanji had been exceptionally slow to respond to texts that day. Was he losing interest in their friendship? No. Sanji was just pinned by work, that’s all. Meeting with the marketing department had gone terribly and he was no closer to securing more donations from ordinary people. Zoro did not need to worry about him, a day without texting was completely normal.

But still. The musty hallway buzzed with emptiness. Zoro leaned forward, bringing his ear to the door. This habit was cringey and borderline creepy, but so what if Zoro occasionally liked to check if Sanji was actively being murdered by a crazy guy with an axe? A man can’t care about his friend?

Most of the time Zoro heard nothing. Yet, standing heavy, he heard the distinct but muffled sounds of chopping. Sometimes, when Zoro checked, he heard cooking, but never this late. He couldn’t explain why that made his heart sink, Zoro just did not like the idea of Sanji still being up at this hour when he’s already been having such a stressful time. The perpetual dark circles under the cooks eyes were certainly cute, but that didn’t mean the man had to go out and actively try to earn them.

Without thinking, Zoro watched his fist rasp against the door. Moments later, Sanji appeared with a ginormous knife in a shaky hand. For a moment, his tired eyes twinkled – maybe in recognition of Zoro – but that passed and a dead expression bore into the boxer.

“Be careful where you point that thing, I’m a pretty good fighter, you know!”

The corny joke got a small smile out of Sanji, who replied “Wow. For an idiot, you’re a pretty good mind reader.”

Sanji lowered the knife, but he remained fixed in the doorway. His posture was straighter than usual, as if to demand an explanation from Zoro without having to say such.

“I just got out of practice and,” he let out a puff of air, “I wanted to see you.” It should have felt humiliating to admit, but Zoro meant it. He wanted to see his friend. That was the truth and admitting it only made his heart lighten.

Sanji stepped aside, a wordless invitation to enter. Zoro obliged.

Discounting the snow storm, he had never truly seen the inside of the cook’s home. Without the filter of total dark, it bore a similar layout to his own. Yet, every inch of Sanji’s apartment seemed to be covered by some decoration. Pillows on the lush couch. Framed paintings on the wall. A chestnut bookshelf with novels spilling off of its overfilled shelves. Zoro’s breath hitched. It was the kind of living room he had only ever seen in movies.

The sound of chopping resumed. How had Sanji kept his mouth shut all those times at Zoro’s place? And why had the fucker never offered to host movie nights?

Zoro whipped around, ready to complain but was met with the pitiful sight of Sanji in the kitchen. His practiced hands shook as he sliced the onion.

“What are you making?” Zoro was steady with his voice. Non-chalant.

Sanji looked up, his face pinched. The man tried to smile, but his eyes were missing the usual flame they got when he was given the chance to talk about cooking.

“Your dinner.” He chucked the butt of the vegetable toward the trash can, missing. “For after your weigh-in.”

Zoro grabbed the slippery root and gently dropped it into its original target. How many mystery treats had Sanji prepared like this?

“It smells good.”

“I haven’t even started cooking anything, yet, you dork.” Sanji swept the cubed onion into a small glass container. “I read that after the weigh-in you're supposed to rehydrate.” His voice wavered.

“You read right.”

“So I’m prepping the stuff for a good soup. Hydrating but still delicious.”

“And I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

“You’re ruining me, Zoro.” Sanji chuckled and snapped a lid onto the onions. He opened the off-white fridge to reveal tens of similarly divided containers – paper and glass alike – hidden amongst a sea of ingredients. How much had the man been cooking?

With the fridge shut, the cook scurried to the velvet green couch and curled up on it. Blue eyes trailed Zoro until he followed. For a moment he considered sitting next to Sanji, taking pleasure in the man’s body brushing up just-barely against his own. Instead, Zoro sat a respectable distance away.

Only the sounds of the nearby nightclub and the occasional siren punctuated the silence. The tight white shirt Sanji wore seemed to have his work’s logo on his chest. Zoro’s own sweatshirt, probably sweaty, had a careful embroidery of his gym’s logo. Lucky Zoro, to have stumbled onto a friend just as passionate as him. The logo lifted and lowered at a speed just above normal.

“Why do you actually cook the mystery treats?”

“Already told you this, mosshead, I wanted to make friends in the new city.”

“That’s not what I meant. Why are you always making mystery treats in the middle of the night?”

“Oh.”

Sanji grabbed a half-empty pack of camels off of the coffee table. The slender cigarette almost slipped out of his trembling fingers. He turned his attention back to Zoro, his eyes sparkling with something other than joy.

“Wanna come to the balcony with me?”

Zoro grabbed the Wall-E novelty lighter from his end of the wooden table and followed Sanji outside, where the winter wind whistled in his ears. The city glowed with a vividness not quite asleep, maybe never to sleep. If he squinted, the view became a blur of light and color.

Cold bit at Zoro’s cotton socks and exposed nose. Poor Sanji’s bare arms were already beginning to bristle. Yet, the cook seemed unbothered, or rather too bothered by something else to care.

“The doctor says they’re night terrors.”

A lone biker rode past the sidewalk in front of their complex without a reflective vest. She’d need to take extra care not to get hit by a stray car.

“A sleep doctor? Wow, I need to learn more about these non-profit health benefits.”

Sanji smiled a genuine but small smile before taking another drag of his cigarette. Zoro was happy to wait. The smile faded, replaced by a distant look.

“My mother had,” Sanji squinted the tears back into his eyes, “Some pretty serious mental health problems, when I was a kid.”

“I see.”

“I mean, it wasn’t terrible or anything, but it was there.” Colorful strobe lights of the nearby club bounced off of Sanji’s solemn face. Reggaeton played just loud enough, so that Sanji didn’t have to shout. It was a song Zoro didn’t recognize.

“But sometimes she would go, like, catatonic,” Sanji lifted his hands with a scarily blank expression on his face as if re-enacting the scene. “And I was barely even a kid, you know? And it wasn’t like here, where you could walk to anything you need.” He took another, longer, drag of the cigarette, not coughing when the huge cloud smoke left his lips. “And so when we ran out of stuff, we ran out.”

“Oh.”

“It wasn’t so bad when I could eat at daycare or school or something, but for some reason,” he pursed his lips, “It was always worse in winter. Never really learned why.”

Sanji’s hands shook too much to light a new cigarette. Zoro lit it for him. When he was homeless, the various gym members brought him food they “made too much of”. Even then, if things got really bad he had been old enough to nick absolute necessities from the local Delis – a sin he was still making up for with diabolically high tips whenever possible. But being a proper baby? His stomach churned.

“Because my family was so,” he trailed off, “If anyone noticed, they never said anything, and things got better once I got older.” Sanji turned away from the ledge, his nose pinked by the nipping wind. “But it all turned out alright in the end and I manage.”

Zoro could respect that mentality. It fucking sucked, and it continued to suck on occasion, but it didn’t have to haunt Sanji. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Exactly!” Sanji flicked the halfway finished cigarette onto the balcony floor. He took one last look at the skyline, the wind rustling his blonde hair, before pulling the balcony door open.

“So I think to myself, if I am going to be awake anyway, I might as well make something good out of it.” Sanji forced a laugh.

“That is true, and trust,” Zoro dramatically licked lips, “the stuff you make is good.”

Smiling, Sanji hit Zoro’s shoulder. “You are an idiot.”

“I’m not joking! I am grateful for your mystery treats, both for being delicious and for giving me the chance to meet you.” His cheeks burned. “Do you need any more help with food prep or?”

Sanji shut the door behind them. His eyes, while still tired, sparkled.

“Yeah,” he sounded relaxed, “I think I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

His last private lesson before the weigh-in ended too early. Koushirou’s placed his hand, calloused by more fights than Zoro could imagine, on his shoulder. The sweat suctioned to Zoro’s gi. This was good, get that water weight out!

“I’m proud of how you trained.”

Without the threat of his coach’s imminent move, Zoro saw new lines on the man’s face. The hands weighed on his shoulder, he wanted to shake it off. Pride swelled from his stomach to the apples of his cheeks. Day after day, Zoro prepared for this moment.

“I will be the best fighter.”

Koushirou man-handled Zoro into a bear hug. Despite the stench of sweat earned through hard training, Zoro took a deep breath. He had to respond to the honor of Koushirou and the gym’s faith with confidence.

With a clap on the back, the hug was over. Zoro zoomed to the bench where his phone waited for him.

“Prancing over there to check on your cook?”

“Koushirou!” Zoro’s cheeks burned, “I’m going to kill your daughter!”

“I never took you as a suave guy! You must save it for when you're out of the ring, like Coach. Good!”

Zoro groaned, loud enough for Koushirou to hear his obvious distaste with this line of discussion, turning over his phone. His heart sank.

Instead of an update on Sanji’s day, fourteen missed calls greeted him. Four from Luffy, the other ten from Kuina. The phone felt like a cement block in his hands. The only text was Kuina's “Call me when you can!”

Zoro hadn’t even the chance to turn around before, Coach’s voice punched through the silence. “Did she call you too?”

He responded by swiping Kuina's contact on the Phone app. That brat better have a damn good reason for scaring them like this.

The wrong rang twice before Kuina’s hurried voice answered the phone. “Zo, that you?”

“Yes, it’s me, you idiot. What is wrong?”

The other end was silent. Sounds of outside construction permeated the gym.

“Luffy and I just learned some shit about your fight.” Her voice quavered like it never did. The hairs at the back of Zoro’s neck stood up.

“What do you mean by some shit?”

Kuins sighed and the pixelated sounds of the phone being passed echoed out of Zoro’s speaker.

A bright voice ended the silence. “Hi Zoro! It’s Luffy!”

Zoro closed his eyes. Breath-in, breath-out, don’t try to strangle the man over the phone. “Hi Luffy, what's happening?” All he could muster was the voice he used when coaching the kids.

“I just got off the phone with my coach and apparently it’s not just Mihawke coming to next week’s fight.”

“It’s not?” Who could possibly be worse to have in the audience than that? His mind raced with the possibilities, but no answer was satisfying.

“Nope! There’s also going to be a camera crew.”

Zoro squatted. Closer to the ground. Good. That could mean anything. It was probably just some west-coasters filming a documentary or something.

Luffy continued, “Yeah, with Kuro’s injury apparently the UFC has an empty slot in the schedule. It looks like they’re going to fill it with your fight since a rep is already going to be in the area.”

Already on the floor, Zoro had nothing else to do than let the emotions rack him. His UFC debut? And he was finding out the week before? Kuina tried to explain that she thought such big news should not be shared over text, but his stomach was too busy churning.

She concluded, “It’s just going to be for fight night, of course, so at least there’s that.” Zoro didn’t know whether the fact that it wasn’t going to be a part of the pay-per-view fight card was better or worse. Better. Probably.

He had trained. He was ready. This was a hiccup. He raked his hands over the grooves of his gi, the sensation calming him fine. This was his chance and he just had to take it.

Chapter Text

The subway car only kind of smelled like piss, so Zoro and Sanji were traveling in luxury. Still Zoro couldn’t stop his leg from bouncing up and down. He was far too exhausted from dumping water weight to be wasting his extra energy, but for some reason his body didn’t catch the memo. Sanji placed his hand on Zoro’s shoulder. Warmth spread from his carefully manicured finger tips to the rest of the body, followed by stillness.

Sanji’s eye bags, a violent shade of fuschia, weighed heavy on the man’s face. Immediately, Zoro felt the urge to leap out of his seat and offer it to the standing Sanji – but they had just had that argument and Zoro couldn’t lose again. The poor cook, shaking with the movements of the train should be spending this time catching up on sleep, not babysitting Zoro on the journey to his weigh-in.

“You didn’t have to come with.”

A small, sweet smile. Another bump overtook the train and the cook stumbled atop of Zoro. With flushed cheeks, he resumed his position standing near the pole. Still, he didn’t laugh or annoy Zoro with some lewd comment.

“Work bothering you?”

When Zoro, still dripping in sweat from the sauna, picked Sanji up to head to the subway, he heard all about the disaster at the non-profit. The lack of donations absolutely wrecked the organization’s budget and Zeff had no choice but to start looking into layoffs. They still did not know who would be on the chopping block. Zoro couldn’t shake the feeling that the poor blonde felt personally responsible for the situation. He was so upset that he didn’t even complain when Zoro pulled him into a hug. While Sanji promised that he was still good to come with to the weigh-in, the journey had remained quiet, intense. Whether that was the impact of Sanji’s mood or his own combination of hunger and nerves, Zoro couldn’t tell.

“No,” the cook’s tight face scanned the packed subway car. “I’m actually kind of worried about your fight.” The words rushed out of his pink lips, as if he needed to say them altogether or not at all.

Zoro’s pulse quickened. The old lady in a fur coat coughed behind Sanji. The brick walls whirred past the subway window. Did he think that Zoro couldn’t win? Was he trying to broach the topic without causing upset? No. That was ridiculous. Probably. The physical stress of the cut was getting to Zoro, this was just Sanji’s first fight since they became friends, such concern was natural.

“Worried I won’t win?” Zoro tried to ask with a smirk, but the insecurity leeched into his voice. It sounded ugly, even to his own ears.

Sanji’s hands shot up in a panic. “No! Of course not! It’s just… you know,” his hands brushed over his back pocket, where the cigarettes he couldn’t light waited for him. “Injuries.”

The old lady scooted in-between the two men on her way to the subway doors. Were they already close to the next stop? Not too many left after that. Then, the weigh-in. Sanji’s cheeks were pink and his wandering eyes refused to make contact with Zoro.

He sighed. “I know the Kuro thing must have been a lot for your first fight, but - ”

“Yes, but it’s not just that.” Sanji’s voice was sharp.

“Oh?”

“Fighting is pretty fucking dangerous, Zoro.”

Zoro closed his eyes. The rattling car and his own deep breaths echoed in the darkness. It wasn’t Sanji’s fault that he was new to the martial arts world nor was he responsible for the frustration bubbling through Zoro’s body. It was just the pre-weigh-in slump. A couple more hours and he’d have all the water and good soup one needed to not be a dick.

“Well, yeah. It’s fighting.”

“I’m not stupid! I was just doing a little more research on UFC and just…” He pinched his eyebrows. “ You know about CTE, ri-?”

“What?” Energy that Zoro could not spare bubbled up inside of him. What was Sanji doing, talking down to Zoro like he was some kind of idiot who didn’t know the most basic injury for contact sports?

“I can’t worry about your future wellbeing?”

For a moment, the train escaped from underground. A blur of grey buildings whirled by before the brick wall returned.

“Where is this even coming from?”

“I just… don't like that it's poor people disabling themselves for the chance out of poverty, that’s all.”

Zoro’s mouth went dry. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? His cheeks burned with the energy his body was oozing. Had Sanji really come all this way just to call him and his friends fucking broke?

He tried to control his voice. “Poor people?”

Sanji’s face was twisted – was that pity, horror, embarrassment, or frustration? What did he have to be angry about? Zoro wasn’t calling him broke, wasn’t insulting his life’s passion.

“Oh come on Moss, please listen to what I'm trying to say. You know that most UFC fighters come from harder backgrounds!”

Zoro couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping open nor could he stop his words from boiling over.

“Harder backgrounds? You fucking serious? No, fuck that! Disabling?” This came out so loud that several passengers turned their heads to look at him. A young dad pulled his daughter closer.

He leaned forward and hissed, “What the fuck are you even talking about? You wanna talk about disabling… say shit about the kids – good kids – getting into gang banging to keep themselves warm … say shit about the people working three fucking jobs and still going to bed hungry. That’s fucking disabling! And that’s what life world would look like if we weren’t fighting, at least this way there’s some fucking dignity in it. This way we can bring ourselves up and bring our people with us.” He poked his finger into the man’s unwrinkled dress shirt.

“That’s not what I was trying to say. Zoro please.” His voice cracked.

“No, I heard you. And I don’t need your fucking pity.”

The train lurched to a stop and Zoro bolted up, brushing past the standing Sanji to the doors. It wasn’t his stop – they both knew that – but Zoro didn’t fucking care. He would walk the rest of the way if he needed to.

“At least I’m doing something for my community and I’m not just moving money around, something you apparently can’t even do right!”

Even from the platform, Zoro could see the words cut into Sanji. His entire demeanor simultaneously deflated and hardened. Betrayal. Zoro tried to step forward to take the cruel words back but the mechanical doors closed in his face.

He yanked out his phone from his pocket. The throbbing mass of the subway station bumped against him as he pulled up his message history with Sanji. Fuck. No bars. Fuck. This fucking subway and it’s fucking steel rods or whatever stopped Zoro’s cellular data from working.

With no chance of texting from underground, his eyes found themselves on the time. Heart sinking, vomit rising, he should not have gotten off at that stop. Now, Zoro needed to run to the venue if he were to have any chance of making it on time.

He slipped his phone back into his sweatpants and slipped through the cracks in the crowd. Outside, the streets were just busy enough that he would have no trouble running. Maybe the pedestrian would even think he was one of the casual city joggers.

His body reminded him why that was not true. Between not eating anything and spending most of the day sweating out in the sauna, he felt like shit. Sweat poured into his eyes. Street corners blurred. Without Kuina’s annoying voice or his headphones, Zoro only had the discomfort of his pounding heart and racing thoughts to keep him company.

What the fuck was he going to do about Sanji? Zoro should not have fucking said that. What a fucking idiot. Why had he gone out of his way to be cruel? This was why Zoro didn’t date, too many emotions too close to weigh-in and now he was going to blow the biggest opportunity of his lifetime. But they weren’t even dating, Sanji was Zoro’s friend. Fuck.

Before he could investigate that train of thought any further, he turned the corner to see a worn concrete building. Was the camera crew inside? There was no obvious place for a van to park, maybe they would only film the fight – he struggled to remember, through the haze, how the fight night schedule worked.

Once a little closer, Zoro recognized Kuina’s pinched face through the glass door. She leapt out of the building and rushed to him. He almost fell to his knees.

“Where the shit were you, man? You’re fucking late!”

She followed him back to the door, where she held it open for his exhausted body. The metal clock in the front office confirmed Kuina’s scolding. He only had seven minutes left until he would be stepping onto the scale.

“Actually nevermind that, what is wrong with you? You look absolutely awful!”

Despite the overwhelming need to continue following Kuina to what he presumed was his dressing room, Zoro stopped with his hands on his knees. Heaving. What the fuck was he going to do?

“Hey! Hey! No need to do that! We can just get you ready here! Not like there is anyone who’ll see.”

Zoro nodded, but didn’t move. Why couldn’t he breathe? Kuina’s nimble hands made work of unzipping his hoodie. With it off, she used its sleeves to wipe the sweat off of Zoro’s face and gently tussle his hair. Pulling a thin chain out of her pocket, she gently clasped it behind his neck.

“There! We want you looking swag on stage, don’t we,” she said more to herself than Zoro. It still made him smile. Of course, he would look cool during his weigh in, his hair was neon green for fucks sake.

“Sanji and I got in a fight.”

She pursed her lips.

“And I was a dick.’

“Naturally.”

“So, I ran here.”

“The obvious solution.” The sarcasm in her voice was warranted. What had he been thinking? It was a miracle that he didn’t miss the weigh-in altogether. But he had made it.

Zoro stood back up. Get on stage. He could do that. Cutting weight was the hard part, now all he had to do was step onto the scale. And, as the chain rubbing against his chest reminded him, pose for the cameras.

“Don’t worry about that now, Zo. I’ll help you figure something out in like an hour. I just need you to go out there.”

Chapter Text

The kitchen’s dim lights flickered. Leave it to the Sunny to have shitty fucking electrical. Zoro’s shaky hands sliced through the carrot far too quickly. A cold bead of sweat dribbled down his neck.

The fight was tomorrow, and there he was cutting vegetables. Alone. In his apartment. Kuina couldn’t even come over as she was finishing up talks with the management. When Zoro tried, the legalese swirled in his eyes and his heart raced. It was all happening too fast and his angel of a friend offered to handle it. Her managerial prowess impressed even Koushirou.

“You’re representing our Gym moss. We can’t have you signing your soul away like an idiot.” She had said.

So only Zoro, his ingredients, and his pounding heart took up space in the apartment. Forcing the knife through the last of the carrot, Zoro’s hand slipped.

“Fuck.”

He quickly brought the cut finger to his lips. Water welled in his eyes, though it barely hurt. This stupid scrape better not impact his fight tomorrow.

With no dignity left, Zoro sat on the floor. He let the emotion overtake him. Warm salty tears broke out of his control and dribbled down his cheeks. Hyperventilate? Cry? Slam his fist against the cabinet? Check his phone?

Opting for the latter, Zoro scooched to the island stool where he had left his phone last. The only message was a photo of Kuina with a big thumb up with the words “we’re officially ready for tomorrow!”

Out of habit, he went to the thread with “Dumb Cook”. Overtaken with the sudden urge to start crying again, Zoro didn’t know whether to be more embarrassed by the sea of blue messages or the stupidity of the messages.

Sorry I was a dick today. Weigh-in went well!

You in on celebration soup?
??
?
Okay, ended up getting some. Don’t worry, I am open to rain checks.

We still re-watching Wall-E tonight or are u not feeling well
Sanji?

Hope work goes well today!

I really am sorry.

Don’t know if you still want tickets for tomorrow but here they are just in case :)

As he re-read his own message, the memories of their painstaking construction flashed in his mind. Nothing. Sanji had said nothing. Zoro hadn’t even seen the man since the train doors shut on his horrified face.

Zoro had never been the type to handle others' emotions well. He knew he fucked up. Why would he go out of his way to say something hurtful, when all Sanji was trying to do was say that he was worried that professional fighterdom rarely aged well – a fair fucking point? Even if Sanji hadn’t done the best job explaining himself, the cook was already having a royally terrible work day.

Despite his regret, Zoro was at a loss on how to repair the damage. He had already said sorry. Twice! What else was he supposed to say? And what was he supposed to do about the fact that not talking to Sanji hurt made him ache from the inside out? They had planned to spend the days before the fight in something like to an extended sleepover and Zoro’s stupidity had fucked it all up.

He squinted at his thumb through the water-matted eyelashes. It had already stopped bleeding. Good. It probably wasn’t that deep then. Sighing, Zoro pushed himself back up and returned to the carrots.

The meal was almost complete, all there was left to do was fry the rice, which was done in complete silence. Unlike the last two attempts at Zoro’s non-CBR cooking, the fried rice went almost perfectly to plan. There didn’t appear to be a single randomly burnt section. By the time Zoro had finished scooping the golden brown rice into the Tupperware, his mind had settled.

With the quickly warming plastic in his hand, Zoro shuffled to the door. Without bothering to slip from his house slippers to his outside shoes, stepped out of his apparent. He quickly glanced at his neighbor’s door, confirming what he had already assumed. The cookies which he had made and left out for Sanji the night before had yet to be picked up. He couldn’t let that shake him. Zoro gently placed the new container atop the cookies. There was supposed to be a soup as well, but that had somehow been turned to sludge deemed unfit for anywhere other than the trashcan. Poisoning the man hardly seemed like a good apology.

Regardless, Sanji would eventually have to take the bait. Zoro would figure out how to make it up to the cook – there wasn’t another option – and, in the meantime, he would have to try his best to focus on tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Zoro suppressed the urge to bounce. The adrenaline would do nothing for him now. Beyond the thin drywall, the crowd’s clamoring mixed with the worst of the billboard charts to assault his ears. Sitting on the sad plastic stool, Kuin’s teeth tore at the skin around her nails. Besides her, Luffy bobbed to the music – how he could even decipher or enjoy it, Zoro didn’t know.

He wanted to walk out the nerves, but management's orders that he stay firmly in the waiting room were firm. Kuina barely acknowledged him as Zoro grabbed the empty stool next to her. When he put his weight down, the stool faltered. One of the legs was fucked up. Great. Taking that as a sign from the universe, Zoro bobbled back and forth, the stool creaking with each shift of his weight.

Kuina placed her hand on his knee, just firm enough to tell him to stop without words.

“Don’t be nervous, Moss. You trained hard. You will do well.”

The smile he tried to give felt like sand in his mouth.

Kuina’s callous fingers raised from his knee to the edge of his white shirt.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Zoro snorted. Was she talking about the fight? Zoro imagined Kuina grabbing him and Luffy by the shoulders and taking them to pupusaria on Westchester. There he could bounce as much as he wanted to. But then the aunties would inevitably ask how his big fight went. He could not let him down.

He shook his head. No way Kuina was suggesting he desert. Her fingers still clung to the bottom of his shirt. Oh. She was talking about the shirt– a last minute idea and a last ditch attempt cooked up that morning. His cheeks burned.

“I’m sure,” he looked at his friends. If this stunt went wrong, it was not just his reputation on the line. “Besides, you owe me one, or is it two?”

“Probably more like two hundred!” Luffy said with a twirl. Still on beat, that fucker.

“Luffy!” Kuina moaned, “But Zoro I’m on your side not matter what, even without owning you,” she looked up to the sky, “a favor.”

Zoro could feel himself smile, a real smile. “Thank you for your support.”

As if management had heard them smiling through the noise and the walls, there was a harsh knock on the door.

“Walk-out in 5!”

Zoro gulped. Walk-out, then fight. Then it was over. Luffy massaged his shoulders as Kuina stood up besides him. They followed him out of the room and then into the hallway. The bald man with the poorly duck-taped clipboard led them through the snaking hallways with the speed and silence of a seasoned professional. Their arrival at the entrance was marked by the roar of the audience and what sounded like Kaku’s walk out music. The bass of the underground rap rattled Zoro’s skull.

A sharp finger jabbed into his shoulder. Zoro turned around to see Kuina trying to tell him something. Despite her quickly purpling face, she seemed unable to be loud enough to be heard. Rolling her eyes, she pointed at her phone with sharp movements. His own phone had been left in the dressing room.

Zoro scooted forward to look at what Kuina was desperately trying to show him, only for his arm to be caught by his handler. With his free hand, the bald man lifted up a single finger. Zoro had one minute, and he was, apparently, not allowed to spend that time figuring out what Kuina wanted.

He crossed his arms. It had been a welcomed distraction for the moment it had lasted. Before he could dwell on the injustice of it all or rehearse his game plan for the millionth time, the same grimy hands from earlier pulled him closer to the door.

As if on que, the opening synth of his favorite reggaeton song echoed out. It was time to make his walk.

Bright lights blinded him. A man-sized camera stood mere feet away. The crowd doubled in volume. Ridiculous. They didn’t know him yesterday, and they wouldn’t remember him tomorrow, but there they were, screaming their heads off. Once his eyes readjusted to the never ending barrage of flash, Zoro could recognize the buckling cameraman frantically waving him forward.

Zoro complied, energy pulsing through his veins. In the distance, an announcer read his Kuina-approved introduction. He could barely register the sounds. The slow walk forward continued.

Behind the camera, Zoro spotted the disapproving eyes of his idol. Mihawke, sandwiched between the other panelists, stared at him cold and impassive. Zoro would not let that mess him up. Mihawke. Cameras. Crowds. This was just a fight and he would not mess that up.

He took another step forward and registered the large screen squarely next to the judge’s panel. On the screen, he saw a sallow and serious face that looked exactly like his own, but felt completely separated from him in that moment. Zoro’s green hair still stood out, even against the crowds of faces he walked past. His eyes slipped down to his shirt.

Oh, yeah, his shirt!

He immediately stopped, momentarily quieting the crowd. With both hands he pointed to the front of his shirt, where the words “Every child deserves to eat” read in big block letters. He then turned his back to the camera, and strained to point at the “End childhood hunger” on the other side.

At this, the crowd roared back to life. He hoped at least some of them were scanning the QR code underneath the words, which would lead them to the donation page of Sanji’s organization. Realizing that his hands may very well be blocking the code, he let them rest and waited a final beat before turning back around.

This morning, it struck Zoro that this might be his only chance to be broadcasted on national television. If Sanji needed the donations and he needed to cover his torso before ascending to the cage, Zoro could find a way to make it work. And so he did. And even if this didn’t sway Sanji to talk to him again, Zoro could be proud of himself that he stood up for a cause he could believe in.

Before he knew it, he was in front of the octagon with the referee patting him down for a stray weapon. Checking his eyes for awareness. Pushing him forward to where Kaku inevitably waited.

Chapter Text

“And now, is the moment you’ve all been waiting for! Live from the Enies arena in New York!” The crowd fights to cheer over the announcer’s roars.

“In the blue corner, standing at five feet nine inches and weighing in at 155 pounds, and coming from Galley-La Boxing Company, is Kaku!” As the bald announcer draws out the name, Kaku starts to air box. Zoro thinks it’s annoying, but the audience eats it up.

“And fighting out of the blue corner,” Zoro jumps to attention, bouncing with unfettered energy. The entire arena’s eyes are on him. “A mixed martial artist, standing at five feet ten inches tall, weighing in at 155 pounds, fighting out of this very city, presenting Roronora Zoro!”

Zoro can’t hear the crowd, he’s too busy meeting Kaku in the center of the octagon. The referee works through the safety spiel as Zoro continues to bounce on the balls of his feet. He’s heard it a thousand times. The men’s gloves met, a fleeting moment of brotherhood.

Then, it‘s over. Zoro’s returning to his corner.

“Ready? Fight.”

Zoro bounded forward. Light taps. Testing the waters, not too aggressive. Kaku lands a kick on just above his knee. Not too hard. Zoro closes the distance. Kaku tries another kick, but Zoro deflects. He takes another step forward. Kaku flings himself toward Zoro with aggressive hooks that don’t make their mark and shift the man’s center of balance.

Taking the opportunity Zoro connects his foot to the center of Kaku’s chest. Good. He is grounded, powerful. Kaku feels it too, trying and failing to knee Zoro in retaliation. The man steps back, keeping his hands up for any move Zoro could make.

When Kaku goes in again, he is met with a hard strike against his left ear. It lands. In the moment of disorientation, Zoro shoots for the knees. Taking him down.

But as the mass of men made contact with the mat, Kaku wrapped his arm around Zoro’s neck. A guillotine. But it’s not locked in, yet, and Zoro was still on top. He can escape. Move your feet, Zoro. Create space, Zoro. Are the words Kuina’s screams, or his own thoughts?

There’s a shift and Kuko locks in his arm. Fuck. Now settled, Kuko’s bicep begins to constrict around Zoro’s neck. Scrambling won’t do any good now. Now, he needs to breathe. Think. What to do?

His body answers before his fuzzying brain can, and Zoro rocks onto his back, bringing Kuko with him. The motion comes with the instant relief of air. Zoro takes another large breath before Kuko pulls them both to their sides, restoring the pressure on Zoro’s throat.

Sweat stings into his eyes. From the new vantage point of face smushed against cage, Zoro can see the crowds excited faces. Excited to see him lose, faces.

Except one.

Although his vision is beginning to purple, Zoro would recognize the blonde hair and dress shirt sitting front row even if he were blind. Koushirou sat next to the angel, watching Zoro get choked out.