bad (taylor's version)

Zoro’s sword rests beside him, blood cleaned but not yet sheathed. He watches Sanji tilt his head to the sky, eyes closed like he’s listening to something Zoro can’t hear.

"You're staring," Sanji mutters, not opening his eyes.

"You're not bleeding," Zoro replies.

"Disappointed?"

Zoro shrugs. “Would’ve liked an excuse to touch you.”

Sanji opens one eye, exhaling smoke through a smile. “You don’t need one.”

It's just. Regulus is not built to be a gym person. He had dizziness the first time he went there, making his coach (some guy called Moody who's mad and looks like a bull) believe he didn't even have breakfast that day, thinking he was going through a clinical episode of anemia. His legs are so tiny they look like straws in his sports trunks. He doesn't know how to use the exercise machines. He's sore all the time. He lies about how many series and repetitions he does during arm day. And let's not forget the time he almost fell off the treadmill, distracted looking at this guy with killer abs and ignoring Braty's warning about speed increase.

He just laughed endlessly, until Regulus managed to turn off the fucking treadmill. That bastard, really. He keeps coming to this hell because he already paid for the month. It has nothing to do with abs guy looking so freaking hot, nor Regulus wanting to study anatomy with his body, running his tongue above every muscle.

Somehow, gym pictures are no longer dumb when they come with a boy with hazel eyes hiding behind a pair of glasses. Regulus would have a happy death if it comes with him being strangled between those thighs...