Work Text:
With a thud, Zoro dropped the last cardboard box on the floor. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he let his gaze sweep across his new home.
Dust swirled through the sunlight streaming into the modest one-room apartment. Now filled with nothing but a table, two chairs, one rolled-up futon, and a few cardboard boxes.
He grunted in approval.
Finally, the Grand Line City, he thought as he looked out the window, then his eye narrowed at the view.
He couldn’t see the city at all!
Framed by his window was what appeared to be the backside of a building. The green painted walls had long since begun to fade and flake, reminding Zoro of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
There was movement in the windows across the narrow street, a small group of people flitting about in white robes and hats. Some gestured wildly with their arms while others busied themselves between stoves.
One of the men left the room in a hurry, plates of food in both hands.
A restaurant’s kitchen, then.
His gaze caught on one of the cooks, a blond man closest to the window. Even from here, Zoro could see the concentration in his steady gaze and furrowed brows. Wait? Was one of them curled?
“Silly dartbrows,” Zoro mumbled to himself.
The sun had long since set when Zoro sat down at his table with a protein shake. The boxes were now empty, the futon rolled against the wall, and his swords rested within reach.
Now he just wanted to down his shake and hit the hay.
As he gulped down his much-needed protein, his gaze fell on the outside. Across the street, the lights were still on in the restaurant, and a lone cook was working in the warm haze of the stove. His blond bangs swayed across his face with every movement. Zoro’s hand twitched with the urge to brush the guy’s hair aside.
Wait. What? Zoro shook his head, ridding himself of the absurd thought.
His eye narrowed, checking the time on the microwave. It was past midnight already.
What was the idiot still doing there, he thought, turning back.
Oh? He dropped something.
Zoro snickered at the pissed-off expression that clouded the cook’s face.
The guy really should go home.
But instead, the blond cracked the window open, leaned over the windowsill, and with a flick of his lighter, lit a cigarette. Zoro watched him take a long drag of his cigarette before breathing it out in a sigh, smoke swirling around him.
Dark circles lingered under his eyes, and his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. His hair was ruffled at the sides from what could only be excessive gripping.
Zoro clenched his fist. The man was barely holding it together, yet he stubbornly stayed.
It’s not like Zoro hadn’t pushed himself through rough days, aching injuries, and early mornings chasing his own dream. But what good would it do if you ran yourself to the ground in the process?
That was just stupid.
Blue eyes suddenly locked with his.
Zoro startled. Blinked.
Shit. Had he really been staring that much?
The blond raised his curly brow in question. As if Zoro was the one with a problem.
Schooling his expression from the initial shock of being caught red-handed, Zoro mouthed a ‘go home’.
The guy’s visible eye widened for a second before narrowing again and fixing Zoro with a glare. He took one long drag from his cigarette, exhaled it toward the sky, before giving Zoro the finger and slamming his window shut.
Again, Zoro wasn’t the one with a problem here.
Stepping out of his shoes, Zoro breathed out in relief to finally be home. For some reason, his usual route home had taken twice the time, and it was already dark out. He dropped his bag of gym gear and chucked his jacket before his gaze, as it always did nowadays, found its way out the window.
The lights were still on. Of course, they were. The cook was still there, just like he had been every night since Zoro moved in a week ago.
It shouldn’t have bothered him.
But it did.
Zoro had even seen him wobbling out of there past two in the morning, only to be back again early the next morning. The later it got, the more the guy tugged at his hair and increased the amount of cigarettes he smoked.
And tonight seemed to be especially bad.
The cook swayed on his steps and even had to hold onto the counter to not lose balance.
Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Zoro grabbed a black marker he had used on the moving boxes, snatched up a notepad, and scribbled a quick message on it before stalking up to his window. He rapped his hand against the glass, not caring if it could even be heard or not, and pressed the note firmly against it. Glaring until, as though sensing it, the blond looked over.
Staring.
Frowning.
Cute, Zoro’s mind helpfully supplied as the cook’s nose scrunched up. Ignoring the tug at his heart, he insistently tapped the note.
The cook kept staring for another moment. Then, his curly brow raised as if the meaning of the note finally dawned upon him.
His expression turned flat, and once again, he flipped Zoro off before returning to his work.
Cheeks red, Zoro threw the notebook on the table hard enough to make it skid to the other side, almost ending up on the floor. His haphazard message, ‘go home you damn workaholic’, seemed to mock him for even trying.
He didn’t care. Zoro told himself for days, drowning himself in training, chores, anything to avoid the window.
It didn’t work.
He still caught glimpses of the cook staying late, skipping breaks, and now he wasn’t even eating lunch.
It’s almost 2 p.m., and Zoro had, despite not wanting to, seen the idiot make sure that not only the customers had been fed, but his coworkers too, without stopping to have a bite of his own.
Unless biting down on his stupid cancer sticks counted.
It did not.
Before he could stop himself, Zoro grabbed the cursed notebook again. This time he took the extra second to make it more readable.
‘take a break. eat something’, he wrote, and just as the blond was about to finish his smoke by the window, Zoro held up the note.
The cook looked at it with a blank expression, reached for something out of sight before holding up a banana in the window; he peeled the skin back in quick succession and, while keeping his gaze on Zoro, bit down into the fruit with more force than necessary.
An icy shiver ran through Zoro’s body all the way down to between his legs, and he winced.
The cook seemed to notice because there was a slight grin before he took another bite just as aggressively, then stalked away from the window.
Well, at least he ate something, Zoro thought, his hand protectively shielding his crotch.
After the “banana incident”, as he'd now like to call it, the cook seemed to kind of listen to him, so it didn’t hurt to write some more notes if it helped the stubborn idiot to take better care of himself.
When the man had his evening smoke breaks, and Zoro was home, he would now always write a note.
‘Go home’, earned him a glare one Tuesday
‘Rest’, got him a dismissive wave of a hand
‘Time for a break soon?’, the guy just rolled his eyes that Friday.
‘Do you ever stop working?‘ made him grimace at Zoro.
Then ‘Stay hydrated’, the cook still glared at him, and maybe it was just Zoro’s imagination, but it did seem to hold less anger, almost practiced.
Still, Zoro figured he actually didn’t mind the notes and did the most sensible thing and started asking some personal questions.
‘Your name?’ he wrote on a note one evening.
There was a slight tug at the corner of the man’s lips, but before he could discern a smile, the man whipped his head away.
Okay. Too personal. But at least he got more than a glare. That’s good enough. He’d take that.
Next time he tried, ‘How long have you worked there?’ and got a shrug of the shoulder. Not much of a reply, but still a reply. Better than another middle finger.
Yesterday, he had opted for a teasing ‘your eye bags are crazy’ hoping to get the message across that sleep and rest were important for one’s health. And while the guy had just rolled his eyes and proceeded to ignore him the rest of the day, Zoro thought he did look a bit more well-rested today.
But maybe that was just his imagination.
Or maybe insults worked on this guy?
‘That’s some insane bedhead’, Zoro tried today, and was rewarded with the cook immediately trying to flatten down his already perfectly styled hair.
Zoro threw up another note.
‘Must’ve slept well :)’.
The cook’s eyes widened comically before narrowing into a glare as his whole face turned a pretty shade of pink.
The notebook slipped from Zoro’s hand.
And the cook spun on his heel, already busying himself with the stove.
A satisfying smile spread across Zoro’s lips.
Later that day, Zoro caught the guy using a saucepan as a mirror to check his hair and then glaring back at Zoro’s window when he thought he wasn’t watching.
Much later in the evening, long after the sun had set, Zoro was nursing a beer, winding down after a hectic day. Stretching his legs onto the spare chair, he took another sip.
Today was a good day. Curlybrow had given some good reactions, training had gone smoothly, and he had the day off tomorrow.
He had deserved this beer, he thought as the soothing liquid comforted his parched throat.
And from the corner of his eye, he saw another guy deserving of a break and a beer. The cook was, as usual, flitting around the restaurant kitchen doing god knows what. Glancing at his notebook, Zoro contemplated whether he should give him some kind of goodnight message. When suddenly, something white fluttered in the periphery. He turned his head, looking out the window, his eye falling on the cook—and on the note he held up.
Zoro spluttered, getting the beer in the wrong pipe at the sight of a message. For him. From the cook.
His eye was wide as he tried to focus on it and read.
‘Had dinner yet?’ it read in neat, cursive letters.
Smirking, Zoro reached for his own notebook and scribbled a quick ‘does this count?’ and held it up in the window as he wiggled his beer bottle for the cook to see.
He got a flat look in response, and Zoro’s smile turned even more smug. He’d had a protein shake earlier, but the cook didn’t need to know that; it was his turn to see how it feels to be on the receiving end of such nonchalant behavior.
The cook shifted on his feet, bit his lip as he glanced to the side, before looking up to meet Zoro’s gaze again with a new note.
‘I’ll make you something’.
Zoro blinked.
‘Come over’.
Another blink.
The cook sent him an impatient glare.
The chair screeched against the floor as Zoro scrambled to a stand. The beer was left forgotten as he stepped into his shoes and tumbled out the door before he even thought about what he was doing.
“What’s up with you and the notes?” The cook greeted him at the door.
“What’s up with you and overworking yourself?” Zoro replied without missing a beat.
The dimly lit foyer revealed a wardrobe to the right for guests to hang their jackets, and to the left stood a desk for the staff. Probably where they checked reservations and stuff.
Welcome to Baratie, read a sign above the entrance to the dining room.
Fancy ass place.
“…None of your business,” he muttered, stepping aside to let Zoro in anyway.
Well, it’s not like he had a jacket anyway. Or a reservation.
“It became my business when all you do is flitting about at ungodly hours outside my window,” Zoro said, exasperated as he stomped into the dining area. “Can't fucking relax in my own home.”
“I’m not forcing you to look.”
“Kinda hard not to…” Zoro mumbled, averting his gaze, pretending to admire a random painting on the wall as if he suddenly cared about art.
“Hah?” The blond questioned, tone accusatory as he leaned into Zoro’s space.
Zoro cleared his throat before blurting out, “The lights!” Crossing his arms, he continued, “With your kitchen lights on at night! It’s like having the sun beam straight into my apartment!”
“Idiot.”
He clicked his tongue. “You’re the idiot.”
“Hey! Do you want food or not?” The guy threw his arms out in annoyance.
“I do,” Zoro said simply, then raised an eyebrow in question. “But why?”
“No reason.” He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze shifting to the side. ”I just have this new recipe I wanna try out, and you’re the only one here.”
“Yeah,” Zoro drawled. “That’s what happens when you cook at,” he glanced at an imaginary watch on his wrist, “ass o’clock,” he finished.
The cook gave him a flat look. “You want me to kick you out?”
“No, no, sorry.” Zoro dropped into the nearest chair before the guy could change his mind.
“Good,” the blond muttered. “It’s Sanji, by the way.” He reached out his hand.
“…What is?” Zoro asked, bewildered.
“My name!” He furiously waved his hand. “You asked before, remember?”
The ignored note flashed in Zoro’s mind.
“Oh,” Zoro stared for a heartbeat before taking it.
The hands he had seen working so hard for countless nights. Soft and warm against his own.
Nice.
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I thought you didn’t do personal questions?”
“What?”
“You always ignored those notes.”
“That was—” Flustered, Sanji looked away again. “It’s different now, okay?!”
“Oh. Okay then.” His grin widened. “Zoro.”
Sanji stared for a moment before pulling back, pushing his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t until he let go that Zoro realized he had held on longer than necessary and yanked his hand back as well.
An awkward silence settled between them.
Then, Zoro eyed him warily. “What?”
Under the table, he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his palm.
“Nothing,” Sanji said, voice a pitch higher than before. “You just look more like a marimo than a Zoro.”
“A mari—what about you?! Your eyebrow looks like a dartboard!”
“What?!”
“You heard me. Like a stupid dartbrow!”
Sanji’s eye widened comically as his face turned red from anger. “You—! Shut up, or I will kick you out!”
Zoro crossed his arms over his chest, sinking further into the chair as if to solidify himself there.
“You started this. I’m not leaving until I’ve eaten.”
“Fine!” Sanji huffed, his bangs fluttering at the motion. “Then can you behave like a civilized person for one second?”
Pouting, Zoro clenched his hand and avoided his gaze.
“Just,” Sanji took a deep breath. “Wait here.” And with that, he stalked off through the swinging door into the kitchen. A short moment later, his head peeked out again. “Want anything to drink?”
“Got beer?”
The cook scrunched his nose in displeasure. “This dish would really go better with a glass of red, but I shouldn’t have expected a brute like you to drink that.”
“I don’t even know what you’ve cooked!” Zoro argued. “It’s whatever, I can drink wine!”
“Not with that attitude.” And the guy was gone again.
Zoro stared at the door. Did the cook just stick his tongue out at him?!
While waiting, Zoro let his gaze wander around the room. This really was one of those fancy places: white-clothed tables, candles, a vase with a red rose, the whole romantic shebang. All wrapped up in a subtle nautical theme.
Not overbearing, like those places when someone’s been trying too hard to make it look like a boat. More like if someone's love for the ocean had been sprinkled around the interior.
His gaze dropped down to a stain on his sweatpants before flicking back to the spotless tablecloth.
Yeah, he could definitely see himself being turned away at the door had he come during opening hours.
Not that he could afford eating here anyway.
The cook returned a while later with a tray in his hand and strode up to Zoro, placing a bottle of sake and a tiny glass before him, together with a plate of food.
The scent of the big steak hit Zoro, his mouth watering at the anticipation of savory meat.
“Wow,” he said, taking it all in. “What’s this?”
A bright smile spread across Sanji’s lips, catching Zoro off guard. The beginning of the cook’s reply blurred into background noise before Zoro forced himself to focus.
“Basically, it’s steak,” Sanji gestured to the plate. “With a gorgonzola risotto.”
“A gorgo—what?”
“It’s a type of cheese; it’s good for digestion and bone health.”
“Okay.”
“Steak has protein, good for building muscles. And with the rice in the risotto, you get the carbs you need.”
Zoro blinked, then looked down at the plate again.
“Is that a fruit?”
“Yes, it’s a pear. It’s not too sweet, but it adds a good balance to the gorgonzola.”
His fork hovered above the plate.
Steak…rice…fruit. His brows furrowed slightly.
“I see…” He lifted his gaze.
Sanji faltered. “What?” he asked, voice wavering. ”Something wrong?”
“No, it’s just…” he trailed off. “You…You’ve been watching me?”
Sanji reeled back. “What? No!”
“You have.”
Zoro’s grin widened.
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Then how would you know I work out?”
Sanji turned away.
“That I like rice? And sake? Bet this place doesn’t even have sake on the menu.”
Zoro reached for the drink menu at the edge of the table, but Sanji was faster and snatched it away, clutching it protectivly to his chest.
“It’s a new spring addition,” he mumbled defensively.
“Mhm,” Zoro hummed, unconvinced.
When Sanji didn’t continue, Zoro took a bite.
It was as if the flavors burst in his mouth. His eye widened, and he immediately shoved in another bite.
“T’is is sho goo’” he mumbled around the food, stuffing his cheeks.
Sanji’s face lit up, visible eye sparkling and a smile stretching from ear to ear. “Is it?!”
“Yeah,” Zoro nodded enthusiastically. He hesitated for only a moment, torn between desire and savoring, before shoving more into his mouth. “I really like this—” he pointed with his fork, “—gargoyle cheese thing.”
“Gorgonzola,” Sanji corrected.
“Yeah, that.”
The tension in Sanji’s shoulders eased, and he took a seat opposite Zoro, looking positively pleased watching him gulp down his late-night dinner.
“Why do you stay late every night when you’re this good?” Zoro asked.
The cook shifted in his seat, gaze falling to the floor. “Good doesn’t mean good enough,” he mumbled.
While this was one of the best meals Zoro’s ever had, he knew a thing or two about wanting to grow better, about not settling for nothing but the best.
“I want to—” Sanji cut himself off, biting his lip, then sighed in resignation and reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “You mind?” he asked, waving the package.
Zoro shook his head.
A lighter flickered, and Sanji puffed life into his cigarette, taking a long drag before slowly breathing it out. A familiar scene for Zoro at this point, only the background was different.
“I want to open my own restaurant,” he finally said.
Zoro simply nodded.
“A restaurant that can cater to every guest’s needs.”
Zoro’s fork paused halfway to his mouth.
“So the food just tasting good isn’t enough.” He tapped ash from his cigarette with a bit more force than seemed necessary. “I need it to suit their tastes and their physical needs.”
Oh, Zoro thought, his gaze falling back on the plate.
Steak for protein. Rice for carbs. Cheese for good bone health. Sake just the way he liked it.
It was perfect.
“So I’m your guinea pig?”
“No!” Sanji defended, a blush painting his cheeks a pretty pink. “Maybe…Yes.” He conceded. “Sorry.”
“I get free food, don’t be sorry,” Zoro said easily, taking a drink from his sake to hide the grin tugging at his lips. He swallowed slowly, then swirled the glass in his hand. “And, it’s an admirable dream.”
Sanji pouted.
“What do you know?”
Looking up from the plate, Zoro caught the way the cook straightened the already perfect tablecloth.
“A bit,” Zoro admitted with a shrug. “ I moved here for mine.”
“What?” His blue eye widened with curiosity.
“Yeah. I was already the best in my village. Couldn’t get any further. So, I moved,” Zoro said like it was that easy.
Sanji stared at him like it wasn’t as simple as Zoro made it out to be.
“You can’t reach your dream by working yourself to exhaustion,” Zoro further explained, taking another bite. The meat practically melted on his tongue.
Forcefully grinding his cigarette into the ashtray, Sanji argued, “It’s called practice. It’s essential to get better at something.”
“Yeah,” Zoro agreed, stabbing more meat onto his fork. “But doing the same thing over and over…eventually you reach a point where it just stops, you know,” he gave Sanji a meaningful look. “There’s no progress.”
The cook averted his gaze.
Taking another bite, Zoro continued, talking around the food in his mouth.
“I could train for hours every day, spar against my master a thousand times and still not get anywhere. You need to challenge yourself.” He caught Sanji’s gaze. “New challenges.”
Sanji went still.
Zoro kept going. “You got the whole world out there,” he gestured with his hand to the outside. “Yet you stubbornly stay here every damn night.”
Staring at the table between them, Sanji’s shoulders slowly sagged.
“Shouldn’t you be—I don’t know—cooking for new people, taking on foreign ingredients, working in different environments, or whatever you cooks do?”
“New challenges, huh?” Sanji sighed. “I’ve been going about it all wrong…”
“Not necessarily wrong.”
“But not necessarily right, either.”
Zoro shrugged, taking a drink from his sake. “As long as you keep your dream alive, you’ll find your way eventually. Some roads are just longer and more tiring.”
“Makes sense.” Sanji rested his elbows on the table. “So, what’s your dream?”
“Oh!” Zoro perked up. “Kendo. I want to be the best.”
”The best?”
“The best in the world,” he smirked. “And that won’t happen by me practicing the same old. I need new opponents.”
“And you’ll find them here? The new opponents?”
“Yeah.” Zoro’s grin stretched wider. “Mihawk is here.”
“Mihawk?”
“He’s the current number one kendo master; when I beat him, I’ll be the best.”
“You sound confident.”
“Of course. What's the point of having a dream if I don't believe in myself? ‘Sides, it's fun. To face new obstacles and challenge myself. Haven't you ever felt that?”
The room fell into silence, Sanji pursed his lips while his dumb but pretty brow creased in thought.
“I see…” Sanji breathed and locked eyes with Zoro. “You were my new challenge!”
“What?”
“All this time I’ve just been cooking for friends, coworkers, and the regulars here,” he continued. “Then you came, someone I knew absolutely nothing about, and there was something about that.” He took a breath. “Something about you.”
Zoro averted his gaze, hiding a creeping blush behind his hand as he coughed slightly.
“And I just knew I had to cook for you!”
Zoro’s heart was beating hard against his rib cage. “Oh.”
“I thought you were just a muscle brute, but you actually say some decent stuff!” Sanji chuckled.
“The hell?!”
Sanji ignored him, staring off into the distance as he continued. “New challenges, huh? So," Sanji leaned over the table, close enough that Zoro caught the scent of citrus and tobacco. “Do you want dessert?”
“Uh…” Zoro blinked. “I don’t really like sweets.”
Smirking, Sanji looked him up and down. “I figured. But a dessert doesn't have to be sweet. So, what do you say?” He smirked. “How about I create a dessert fit for a sweet-hating marimo like you?”
Zoro should’ve answered the insult. But instead, he leaned in closer. “Challenge accepted.”
Just inches apart, their competitive grins shifted into something softer.
It was one dessert, two hours, and three drinks later that Zoro made it back to his apartment.
If it wasn’t for the bags under the cook's eyes and the stagger in his steps, Zoro might’ve stayed the whole night. Those all blue eyes had been dangerously easy to drown in.
But the cook needed to rest. Still, Zoro couldn’t wait to see him again.
His gaze went out the window, like it always did. The cook was finishing up in the kitchen; he had flat out refused Zoro’s offer of help, claiming it would go faster if he did it himself.
In a way, he was probably right.
Zoro wasn’t that well-versed in chores. And he couldn’t trust himself not to break something and just worsen the burden. So he had left, albeit reluctantly.
His futon lay to the left, calling him to sleep before tomorrow's challenges; to the right, on the kitchen table, was a notebook and the message from earlier.
Well, he could at least write one last message for the cook.
‘When can I see you again?’ he scribbled, and just as he held it up to the window, he saw a note already being held up across the street.
Sanji was smiling shyly next to neat letters asking, ‘wanna come over for lunch tomorrow?’
Zoro snorted a laugh, scratched out his earlier message and wrote ‘YES’ in the free space in the corner.
His own smile widened, mirroring the cook across the street.
Even after Sanji had left the window, Zoro lingered. Watching him close the kitchen and eventually turn out the lights. Leaving the always lit kitchen in an unfamiliar darkness.
Tomorrow.
Lunch.