Kosdan

Well, Zoro wouldn’t lie to himself, he did find Sanji quite handsome and charming; but, at the same time, his… weirdness just pissed him off sometimes. He couldn’t explain in a way that made sense, but at the same time that the cook picked stupid fights with him, he also remembered every single one of Zoro’s culinary preferences, and was always ready with a smoothie whenever Zoro finished training. Is the stupid cook a psych or something like that? But he really couldn’t shake this strange feeling that stirred inside of him whenever he saw Sanji. He couldn’t even name it. 

He decided it was none of his business at the moment. He could always worry about it later, anyways. Zoro always prided himself in many aspects, but also in his methodical way of approaching things like feelings; if it was meant for him to understand at that moment, he would; if not, he would understand it later. His only worries now were finding new swords for a nice price, or else Nami would actually kill him.

–

Sanji always thought that Zoro was more than what he could see. At first, he thought the man to be stupid, like, really stupid. Facing Dracule Mihawk all by himself and refusing to give up on the fight is exactly what Sanji would describe as top tier level stupidity. However, after taking a bit of time to actually observe Zoro, Sanji came to the conclusion that he should not be underestimated. While yes, sometimes he did share the same braincell with Luffy, Zoro was actually pretty observant and reserved in this weird way that allowed him to be kind and playful, but also gave him a sobriety that was pretty enticing.

That is, unless when he was lazing around on the ship, of course. Sanji would say that his irritation would arise when he saw the whole crew working and Zoro just… sleeping!

One evening, he got fed up and actually walked over to where Zoro was napping with all the intentions to wake him up, but Chopper stopped him. The little reindeer was adamant on not letting Sanji wake Zoro up, since, apparently, Zoro had not had a single good night's sleep since they entered the Grand Line. And he would need all the sleep he could get so his injuries could actually heal right. Sanji thought for a moment; he did hear Zoro tossing and turning at night, but he was under the impression that the moss-head was just a restless sleeper.

Chopper asked Sanji once more to not wake Zoro up while he finished prepping a medicine that would help regulate Zoro’s… something that Sanji didn’t quite understand, but it would help Zoro sleep better at night. 

Well, what could he do? Doctor's orders.

He spared another glance at Zoro. He was breathing slowly, his swords on the ship’s deck beside him. His arms and legs were crossed, like he was ready to just snap his head back up and shout at someone. 

Sanji suddenly felt an urge to sit beside Zoro, and his body responded before his mind could catch up. He sat down and looked at Zoro again, this time a bit closer. He saw the sunset’s glow on Zoro’s tanned skin and the way his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing. 

He decided to stay a little while, just to ensure that the stupid moss-head would stay asleep until Chopper came back, of course. The ship was uncharacteristically quiet that day, but one could never be too careful. He let his head fall back and also closed his eyes just for a moment. 

After a few minutes, he woke up with the soft impact of someone’s head on his shoulder. When had he fallen asleep? Who was beside him- oh.

It was Zoro.

Sanji felt his whole body going stiff. Oh fuck. What should I do now?

He could always push Zoro away. He could always get up and let Zoro fall onto Merry’s deck.  

But Sanji was not a monster.

He tried his absolute best to stay very still. Chopper was going to show up anytime now, so it was just a matter of time. He felt himself start to relax. Yes, it would be only for a few more minutes and Chopper would come back and Sanji would be able to endlessly tease Zoro about him sleeping on Sanji’s shoulder. The perfect plan!

However, when Sanji turned his head to look at Zoro, he saw his eyebrows furrowed and he was mumbling something. Sanji dipped his head closer to try and understand what Zoro was saying, and he could finally hear, very softly:

“Kuina… no… Kuina…”

Sanji’s heart broke. Maybe that’s why Zoro hasn't been sleeping well? Nightmares about one of his best friends, and the first person who saw true potential in him.

Sanji didn’t know what to do. He wanted to wake Zoro up, but Chopper’s words kept coming back to his head. He, then, decided to apply the technique Zeff always used on him when Sanji was having nightmares as a kid. He started petting Zoro’s hair softly and slowly, carding his fingers through the short green locks. He couldn’t believe he was actually doing this, but he recognized the soft spot for the swordsman that appeared in his heart; it reminded him of his own restless nights back at the Baratie, when his past would come back to haunt him and Zeff would caress his golden hair until the nightmares released him. Sometimes, Sanji would wake up during this, but would stay very still and pretend to still be asleep just to enjoy that moment a bit more.

Fuck, now his eyes were wet.

He kept his ministrations on Zoro’s hair, and apparently it worked! Zoro was more relaxed than before, and the nightmare seemed to have subsided. 

Sanji then had a slip on his better judgement, he wouldn't be able to describe it in any other way. He slowly dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of Zoro’s head. He immediately regretted it and also stilled his hand, staring at Zoro’s face just so he could be 100% sure that he was still asleep. 

After a few seconds of absolutely nothing from Zoro, Sanji sighed, relieved. Thank gods the moss-head didn’t wake up.

Chopper then, almost as on cue, trotted happily to where they were and announced his new medicine. Sanji then woke Zoro up.

“Hey, stupid marimo, wake up. Chopper made medicine for you”.

Zoro grumbled in response and lifted his head, turning his face away from Sanji and in Chopper’s direction. If his face was red, Sanji didn't notice.

“Thank you, Chopper” Zoro said, taking the medicine in one go. He then turned to Sanji. “And thank you too, for not waking me up, curly brow.” He got up without waiting for an answer.

“Go back to sleep now, Zoro.” Chopper said while Zoro reattached his swords to his hip. “The medicine will help you sleep better, but you will probably be out until tomorrow morning.”

“That’s okay. Thanks again.”

With this, he spared one more glance at Sanji, nodded and went to the quarters.

Sanji also got up to get dinner ready. Zoro wouldn’t eat dinner, but Luffy wouldn’t mind eating an extra portion today. But he couldn’t figure out what that glance and nod meant.

What Sanji didn’t know at the time, is that Zoro woke up as soon as Sanji’s fingers made contact with his head. He kept pretending to be asleep because he didn’t know what to do with all the butterflies that were revolutionizing his guts, and he also didn’t know how to face Sanji after that. When Sanji kissed his head, he almost gave himself away, but by sheer willpower, he stayed quiet.

After laying back down at the quarters, Zoro couldn’t shake the feeling of Sanji’s kiss and fingers on his head. He found himself wanting to feel that again, to fall asleep on Sanji’s shoulder again. His last thought before Chopper’s medicine kicked in was that he wished Sanji was there, sleeping beside him.

He slept a dreamless sleep.

– 

The next day, Zoro woke up feeling energized. Chopper was a saint. By the sun’s shadow, it was past nine in the morning, so he decided to get up. Merry wasn’t rocking like crazy, so he figured that the rest of the crew had found an island and decided to explore a bit. 

When he entered the kitchen, he saw Robin sitting at the table reading one of her books. She glanced up and smiled at him.

“Good morning, Zoro,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen counter. “Sanji made breakfast for you.”

“Good morning, Robin. Yeah, he kinda makes breakfast for everyone, doesn’t he?” Zoro replied, grabbing the plate with three onigiris and pouring himself a mug of coffee.

“Well, he does, but I think this one is special”

Robin handed him a folded piece of paper. It read his name in Sanji’s swirly handwriting. He opened it.

Good morning, moss-head.

Did you sleep well?

Here’s your breakfast. Eat it. Chopper said you need to eat well, especially since you didn’t get dinner yesterday.

Little Robin will be taking care of the ship today. Help her and don’t stress her out, or else. We found an island and decided to explore it a bit. I'm gonna bring you a bottle of sake if you are nice to Robin.

-- Sanji 

He didn’t know why his face felt hot, if it was from the sheer absurdity of Sanji of all people leaving him a note, or if it was because he asked if Zoro had slept well. He cleaned his throat and pocketed the note.

“That stupid cook”, he mumbled to himself before sitting down to eat. Robin looked at him with a weird expression, a sly smile. “What?”

“Nothing”, she answered, getting up to fill her mug once more. “It’s just that you are interesting. The both of you, I mean.”

Zoro hummed and started eating the onigiris. They were delicious, as always.

After a few minutes of silence with Zoro eating and Robin reading, Zoro finally asked what has been plaguing his mind since last evening. 

“Robin, what is it like to be in love?”

Robin paused mid page-turn, a bit taken aback at the straightforward question.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I think I’m in love, but I’m not sure, I’ve never felt it like this. And I thought you could help me, since you know a lot of things.”

Such a strange man, Robin thought, but closed her book nonetheless.

“Let me see”, she started, resting her chin on her hand. “Being in love is feeling like the whole world fits inside someone’s hand. You hear their laughter and it becomes your favorite sound. You feel their touch and become addicted to it. You feel butterflies at first, but they eventually go away and give space for a warm feeling of safety whenever you see the person, like they are your safe haven. You want to be around them all the time, and to talk to them about every little thing that comes to mind.” She looked at Zoro, who was very quiet, staring at Sanji’s note in his hands. Robin smiled. “Did I answer your question?”

He raised his head and gave Robin a small smile.

“Yes. Thank you, Robin.” He got up and washed his plate. “I will be on the deck, if you need anything. Want to know if there are any Marine ships getting closer.”

“Alright.”

He left and Robin smiled again.

Young love is so cute.

—

The island was nice, Sanji thought. Colorful streets, nice shops, pretty women, all of that. He would be in his element when they got to the market, all different types of fish, fruits and spices; and while he didn’t let any of this go unnoticed, he was uncharacteristically quiet for the whole trip.

Nami and Chopper were on the other side of the market looking for paper and medicine, while Sanji and Usopp browsed the spice alley searching for different kinds of pepper.

“Look, Sanji!” Usopp hurried to one of the vendors, pointing at colorful peppers. “We can try them to see which one is the spiciest! I think they’ll help a lot with my Kosho Boshi!”

He showed Sanji the spices and started to ramble about the effects of capsaicin on the enemies and how he once defeated a whole army of a thousand men with just three Kosho Boshi, but Sanji’s eyes were unfocused. He wasn’t listening at all, his mind wandering until his gaze fell on a small potted cactus.

“Hey, Usopp,” Sanji interrupted Usopp’s excited rambling. “You love Kaya, don’t you?”

Usopp seemed confused.

“What do you mean? Of course I do! Kaya is the most beautiful, delicate, amazing, intelligent, kind-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He didn’t meet Kaya in person, but he felt he did just by listening to Usopp talk about her for hours on end. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean, then?”

Sanji hesitated.

“What did you do when you found out you loved Kaya?”

Usopp thought for a moment.

“I don’t really know. I think I’ve loved her since we became friends. Nothing really changed in the way we treated each other.” He tilted his head and followed Sanji’s gaze to the cactus. Usopp smiled. “But, if you’re asking me what you should do about your love for… someone… then I think you should just tell him. Life at the sea is unpredictable, you don’t know when or if your paths will depart.”

He patted Sanji’s shoulder.

“Now, let’s buy these peppers and head back to the ship! I want to make my new Kosho Boshi!”

“Yeah” Sanji replied, gaze still on the cactus. Then he snapped back. Tell him? How did Usopp know?!

“Hey, Usopp, what do you mean by telling him? Come back here!”

Later that day, Zoro found a little potted cactus next to his training equipment. Another note beside it, written in swirly handwriting.

It reminded me of you. Don’t be weird about it.

-- S

Zoro smiled. 

Sanji was smoking outside, looking out towards the horizon, imagining finally finding the All Blue, seeing Luffy becoming King of the Pirates, seeing Zoro becoming the Greatest Swordsman in the World-

Footsteps. Familiar ones. Footsteps that normally would have been silent, which means that their owner wanted to be noticed.

Zoro.

He approached Sanji and reclined his back on the ship’s railing, crossing his arms.  

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what, marimo?”

“For the cactus, and the breakfast,” he hesitated. “...and the notes”.

Sanji’s ears turned pink, but his voice stayed as neutral as he could muster it when he replied:

“You’re welcome. Can’t let you starve, after all.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t need to write the notes, nor buy the cactus.”

“Do you want to fight? I wrote the notes so your stupid ass wouldn’t be all nervous not seeing us on the ship! And if you don’t want the cactus, well, just throw it away! Fucking moss-head.” 

Sanji turned to leave, but Zoro held his wrist. 

“Wait, Sanji. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sanji stared at him. He never calls me by my name. What the hell?

“I just want to thank you. You didn’t need to do any of that, but you did nonetheless, so…” Zoro brought Sanji’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you.”

And, as simple as that, Zoro released Sanji’s hand and walked back inside, leaving Sanji with his jaw on the floor and his legs feeling like jelly. 

Sanji gripped the ship’s railings to steady himself. He desperately needed another cigarette. What the fuck just happened?! Was moss-head going insane? Sanji couldn’t tell, but he could feel his own heart beating like it wanted to jump out of his ribcage. He took a deep breath, lit another cigarette and spent the next thirty minutes trying to convince himself it was all a joke. He thought he got it when he finally mustered the courage to go back to the kitchen, but felt all his composure start to slip when Zoro glanced up at him from whatever map Nami was showing him at the table. Zoro’s expression didn’t change when he looked back at where Nami was pointing, but Sanji thought he saw a light dust of pink on his cheeks. His own face shouldn’t be any better. 

–

As said by Usopp, life at sea was indeed unpredictable.

Spending two years away from their crew and from each other was consuming, to say the absolute least, for both Zoro and Sanji.

They didn’t talk about their feelings for each other before getting separated, and regret is not a word that can begin to cover what they felt. 

Zoro missed their sparring sessions, their nicknames that started as insults, but  became thinly-veiled displays of affection. He missed Sanji’s cooking, his ever present cigarette, his stupid bangs and even stupider attitude towards Nami and Robin.

Of course, he missed all of his crewmates, but Sanji’s absence was eating him alive. He tried not to show his longing in front of Mihawk, but Perona was his shoulder to cry on in many nights of those way-too-long two years.

Sanji wasn’t doing any better. He felt empty every single day without his crewmates on Kamabakka Island. He missed them so much.

He missed Zoro so much.

And he wasn't entirely happy to admit it to himself. But the thing is, even with all the chaos that he needed to face on that island, he found people willing to listen to him ramble about that damned marimo for how long he needed to. They even gave him advice on how to navigate his feelings for Zoro without tearing his own hair off. In the end, Sanji was grateful – not that he would admit that, of course. If not for them, he would surely have gone insane with longing. 

He awaited for the day he and Zoro would finally meet again.

–

When that day arrived, Sanji couldn’t be any happier.

He hugged every single one of his crewmates for what could be considered an embarrassing amount of time even for his lovey-dovey personality. When it was Zoro’s turn, Sanji hesitated. Zoro was just standing there, arms crossed, swords at his hip, staring Sanji down. 

Zoro looked… amazing. His muscles got bigger, he was wearing a kimono that showed his chest scar. He also had a new scar on his left eye, and Sanji could not refrain from making a mental note on how fitting it was that Zoro’s good eye is the same eye that Sanji covers with his hair. We are mirrored.

All of Sanji’s emotions were being held back by sheer willpower. He couldn’t afford that dam to spill in that moment, so he was truly debating whether to hug Zoro, or to just pat him on the back, or just nod acknowledging his presence and say some stupid thing along the lines of “hey marimo, see you got bigger, huh”.

Pathetic.

But before he could actually make a decision about this, Zoro uncrossed his arms and abandoned all his aloof attitude when he gave Sanji a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey, perverted cook” Zoro said against Sanji’s ear. “Cat got your tongue?”

Sanji couldn’t even be mad. He just hugged Zoro back and buried his face on his shoulder. His heart was finally at peace.

The crew threw an absolute party. Food, drinks, music, everything. Luffy was laughing like a maniac, and that alone was enough to lift everyone’s spirits even more. Zoro was quietly sitting at the corner of the table, eyeing his captain with fondness and a small smile. He didn’t feel the need to be as loud as he once would have been, but he also didn’t become allergic to a good time, so he just let himself be present at the moment. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and kept listening to whatever absurd story Usopp was telling, when he felt a pair of eyes falling on him.

He opened his eye and locked it with Sanji’s, who promptly looked away, face flushing slightly.

Cute, Zoro thought with a silent chuckle. He solved this the only way he knew how to.

He picked a fight with Sanji.

After Nami broke the fight with two well-thrown punches, both of them were sent outside to resolve their differences.

They got out laughing.

“Did you see her face?” 

“Don’t mock Ms. Nami, stupid marimo!” Sanji answered, kicking Zoro’s back.

They sat down side by side and let their giggles die out. They could still hear the chaos inside the ship’s kitchen, the warm light bleeding out into the chilly night’s air.

Sanji tilted his head back and took a deep breath. He exhaled softly and sagged.

“I’m happy, Zoro,” he said. “So happy to finally be with you all again… happy to be with you again.”

Zoro looked at Sanji and smiled at his wine-flushed face. He would blame his and Sanji’s actions on the booze later, but he took Sanji’s hand and, mimicking something he did more than two years ago, kissed Sanji’s knuckles.

“I’m happy too, Sanji.”

Sanji turned his head and also smiled.

“Why are you saying my name like this?”

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘curly eyebrow’?”

“You’re no fun, goddamned moss-head”.

They kept bickering and holding hands until Luffy came looking for them and begging Sanji for more food. Sanji just laughed at that and got up to find something to fill the black hole that was his captain’s stomach.

He was home alright.

–

They finally decided to do something about their messes of feelings only the next week. 

Zoro would argue that he didn’t like talking about feelings when he was drunk. Sanji would call that bullshit. But again, they seemed to be reading each other’s minds, since they wordlessly decided to properly talk when they would be 100% sure that their every word would be coming from the heart. If it was just an excuse to keep dancing around each other for a little while, they would never admit it, but it was surely driving everyone else insane.

On a very beautiful morning, Sunny found another island. Nami had volunteered Zoro and Sanji for watch duty, so they could be alone in the ship. She gave Sanji a thumbs up when he helped her off the ship and he felt his stomach drop when he saw the mischief behind her eyes.

He got back inside, to where Zoro was cleaning his swords..

“How many times will I have to tell you not to put your swords on the dinner table?”

“You don’t really mind, do you?” 

Sanji tsked and turned to put some coffee to brew. He needed caffeine in his system.

They stayed in a weird silence while the coffee got ready. Sanji then poured two mugs and walked over to Zoro, handing him one of them.

“There.”

“Thanks, curly.”

“What? Aren’t you gonna kiss my hand?” Sanji said, sipping his coffee.

It was meant to be a joke, but Zoro did put his mug down, grabbed Sanji’s hand and kissed his knuckles, twice. 

“Thank you, swirly brow,” Zoro said, still holding Sanji’s hand and looking up at him through his lashes.

Sanji almost dropped his mug.

“Stop doing this shit if you don’t mean it, stupid marimo!”

Zoro just stared at him. Still holding Sanji’s hand, he turned on the bench so his back was turned to the table, took Sanji’s mug from his other hand and put it on the table.

“What if I do mean it, cook?”

Sanji sucked in a breath.

“Then you’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

Zoro pulled Sanji closer to him.

“Show me the consequences, then.”

Sanji stepped between Zoro’s knees, free hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. He took a moment to really look at Zoro, the tanned skin, the scar on his eye, his other eye, staring at him. He felt Zoro squeezing his other hand lightly.

Sanji's hand slowly crawled up Zoro's neck in a feather touch, feeling the warm skin. He explored Zoro’s face with his fingertips, felt the cool metal of his earrings, followed his hairline, traced his scar, and felt the smooth skin of his cheeks. Sanji held Zoro’s chin lightly and then caressed his lips with his thumb. He wanted to kiss Zoro so bad. So bad. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. But he couldn't do it, no, not like that. He wanted Zoro to want this too. He didn't want to be selfish, he wanted to know that Zoro also felt the same way. 

Sanji hesitantly raised his gaze to Zoro's eyes, and his heart throbbed.

Zoro's lips were parted because of Sanji’s touch, pupil dilated, face red, his eyebrows furrowed, and he was looking up at Sanji from where he sat almost expectantly, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. He was still holding Sanji’s hand, and his other fist was clenching and unclenching on his thigh, unsure if he was allowed to touch Sanji more or not. Sanji was so close, but his hand was itching to pull Sanji just a little bit closer.

"Want to say something, stupid marimo?" Sanji whispered, inching his face closer to Zoro’s. "If so, now is the time.”

Zoro felt almost dizzy. He held Sanji by his waist and pulled him closer. He tugged on Sanji's tie until they were nose to nose. 

"Shut up and kiss me"

Sanji felt ready to oblige, but he couldn't resist being a little shit just once more.

He gave a little kiss to Zoro's nose, then, his scarred eyelid, then, the other eyelid – the moss-head had closed his eyes! How cute! – then, cupping Zoro's face with both hands, kissed his forehead and went back to the tip of his nose. When he got to the corner of his mouth, Zoro lost his patience. 

"Kiss me already, perverted cook"

"Why hurry, marimo? We have all the time we want-"

"Sanji"

This snapped Sanji back to Zoro's expression. There was something close to desperation in Zoro’s eyes, like he wanted something that was being held just above his reach.

"Please, Sanji. Kiss me."

Now, he obliged.

Sanji touched his lips to Zoro's, and the world got back on its axis. He moved closer to Zoro and slid one of his hands into Zoro's hair, caressing his scalp slightly. Sanji felt Zoro going stiff and immediately pulled away.

"What's wrong?" He asked, scared of pushing too far. He couldn't bear the mere thought of scaring Zoro and losing him because he was too impatient, too hungry for the swordsman's affection that he couldn't wait.

"Nothing, it's just that..." Zoro looked down. "I've... never done... this... before."

Sanji could see the tips of Zoro's ears going red. 

“You've never done this... with a man?" Sanji asked, after a few seconds trying to understand what the actual fuck was the moss-head telling him.

"No, I've... never done this, like, ever" Zoro answered, averting his gaze. He couldn’t look at Sanji without feeling like dying.

Sanji wanted to tease him so bad, it was almost an itch. What do you mean the great Roronoa Zoro never kissed anyone ever? But Zoro seemed so... vulnerable. He saw it on the way he was clutching his waist like a lifeline, like he was going to get lost if he ever so slightly relaxed his grip on Sanji. 

Sanji nodded. 

"That's okay. It's fine" he said, more to calm himself down than to reassure Zoro. He was this close to freaking out. He was going to be Zoro's first kiss! Was he also going to be his first boyfriend? His first time? His first God-knows-what? He felt giddy with excitement at all the possibilities, but so scared to fuck up at the same time.

"Hey, blond, don't make this stupid face. Are you mocking me?"

Sanji didn't even realize he was smiling like an absolute idiot until Zoro's annoyed voice broke him out of it. Zoro's eyebrows were furrowed and he was pouting. For fucks sake, he was pouting!

"Sorry, marimo. I'm not mocking you, I promise,” he said, smiling kindly down to Zoro and petting his hair. "I'm just impressed that such a handsome man like you has never been kissed properly until now.”

This turned Zoro even redder, if that was possible, and he tried to turn his head to hide his face from Sanji, but the blond grabbed his chin lightly and turned him back.

"No, no, no! Don't hide from me. Let me see you. Let me kiss you"

"Teach me how," Zoro whispered.

"Okay" he murmured, "then, open your mouth a little, love."

Zoro's breath hitched and Sanji felt his own face heat up. Where did that come from? He didn't know, and he decided to worry about this later, because now Zoro was tentatively parting his lips. Sanji then touched their lips again, angling their heads so he could kiss Zoro deeper. He then slid his tongue into Zoro's mouth, slowly. Zoro made a sound at the back of his throat that almost sent Sanji into orbit and made him question himself on why he hadn’t kissed the swordsman earlier.

They kept kissing for a few seconds when Sanji's head started to form a thought about their position being kinda weird and uncomfortable. He wanted to be even closer to Zoro, he wanted to press against him, he wanted to crawl under his skin if possible. But before the thought and the wants were fully formed, Zoro seemed to read his goddamn mind, because he broke the kiss and wordlessly manhandled Sanji until he was sitting on his lap.

Zoro hugged Sanji's middle and pulled him flush against himself. Sanji seized the opportunity to wrap his arms around Zoro's shoulders.

"Is this better, cook?" Zoro asked, with a lopsided grin, nose touching Sanji's.

"So much better, moss" Sanji pecked his lips. "Now, let me kiss you again.”

And, after what felt like an eternity, Sanji couldn't remember his own name. He could only surrender to the shivers that ran down his spine whenever Zoro sighed softly against his lips. Zoro proved himself to be a fast learner and an excellent kisser; Sanji was actually impressed. Marimo, full of surprises.

Zoro's hands were slowly roaming Sanji's torso over his clothes. It wasn't a rushed touch, Sanji noted; Zoro was touching him with delicacy, with reverence, and this realization made Sanji sag even more into Zoro's hands, his own caressing Zoro's scalp, neck and face. 

They finally parted with one, two, three pecks to each other's lips. 

"Still there, marimo?" 

Zoro wrapped one arm around Sanji's waist, and lightly squeezed his thigh with the other hand.

"Yes, dear. Still here."

Sanji felt like he was hit by a freight train. 

"D-dear?"

"Yeah, you called me 'love', didn't you?"

"I did, but..."

Zoro looked at him.

"Was it an accident?"

Sanji hesitated.

"I mean, kinda," he touched his forehead to Zoro's. "But... it's also true."

Zoro smiled and closed his eye.

"Good."

After a few seconds of silence, still with his eyes closed, Zoro broke it with a voice so small it didn't even feel like his.

"Can you call me that again? Please?"

What's with moss-head and all the begging today? And who was Sanji to deny it to him.

"Love."

"Again."

"Love."

"...just one more time."

Sanji then held Zoro's face and waited for him to open his eye.

"My love" he whispered.

Zoro sighed. 

"Thank you."

It was the end of the world, indeed. 

Zoro pulled on Sanji's shirt, looking at him with an indiscernible soft gaze.

"Already, marimo? You're impatient, huh?" Sanji said, but his heart was racing.

"It's not like that, swirly eyebrows," Zoro scoffed. "I just... want to feel your skin. You're warm."

Sanji nodded, and he wanted to laugh. Zoro was so cute like this that he couldn't even believe this was the exact same person that could cut through pretty much anything with his swords. The same person that came back so aloof and serious that intimidated those who didn’t know him well.

"Okay... alright, my love." Sanji unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. "Anything you want."

Zoro hummed in approval and pulled his own arms from inside his kimono, letting it fall around his waist. He stayed still for a few seconds, watching Sanji's gaze wander. He normally didn't like to be scrutinized like that, but he felt safe under the blond's stare. Zoro answered with a stare of his own at Sanji's body; he wanted to trace every muscle with his fingers, he wanted to spend hours and hours just admiring Sanji, just mapping all his moles and kissing every single scar. 

But he would have time to do that later. 

For now, he just wanted to feel Sanji's skin against his, so he hugged Sanji’s waist and pressed his lips against his shoulder. He felt Sanji hugging him back and starting to draw little spirals on his shoulder blades.

Zoro's fingers found Sanji's spine. He ran his fingers over all its reachable length and found rhythm on the vertebrae, raising goosebumps where his fingers passed. Kinda like a rosary, he thought. Zoro wasn't one to pray, but he did know how to meditate, and how to repeat mantras. He smiled to himself, kissed Sanji's shoulder again, and restarted his finger’s path, all the way from the base of Sanji’s skull.

I want you to be happy

Next vertebra.

I want you to be healthy 

Next vertebra.

I want you to be safe

Next vertebra. 

I want you to be loved

Sanji realized what Zoro was doing when he was about halfway down Sanji's back, when the whispered well-wishes started to sound suspiciously like I love yous being repeated over and over. Sanji realized he wasn't exactly supposed to be hearing that, but Zoro didn't seem to realize that he was speaking out loud, so Sanji just closed his eyes and let it happen.

After reaching the last bone he could, Zoro started a path of small kisses on Sanji's neck, going up to his face. The blond tried his best to maintain what was left of his composure, but it was proving itself a very hard task. He felt so warm, so at ease, that he couldn't formulate a rational thought. He just wanted to feel Zoro all around him, so he relented to tilting his head slightly so the moss-head could have easier access to his neck. 

Finally, a murmur, muffled against Sanji's pulse point:

"I love you, Sanji." 

Sanji almost missed it, were it not for Zoro being so close to his ear. But he understood, and a wave of affection washed through him, and he felt his eyes filling with tears. I'm that moment, Sanji felt like he could conquer anything he wanted. He felt he could destroy the World Government all by himself. In that moment, he felt truly loved. He kissed the side of Zoro's head.

"I love you too, Zoro.”

Zoro pulled back, smiling softly, and wiped a stray tear on Sanji's cheek. He pushed Sanji's bangs up, uncovering his other eye. Were his eyes always this blue? Zoro couldn't tell, but he decided that that was his new favorite color.

"Don't cry, cook."

"They are happy tears, moss-head."

Zoro raised an eyebrow.

"Happy tears?"

"Yes" Sanji held Zoro's wrist and kissed his palm. "I want you, Zoro. I don't know what overcame me to just… actually kiss you, but I'm glad I didn't chickened out." He pressed another little kiss against the corner of Zoro's mouth. "We both know you wouldn't have taken the initiative."

"Oh, shut up, you perverted cook. I literally asked you to kiss me."

"Yeah, but I set the mood first.”

Zoro rolled his eye and pulled Sanji in for another kiss. He would tell himself it was just to shut him up, but he couldn't deny the shivers that ran through his whole body when their lips connected once more. Zoro ran his hand through Sanji's hair and lightly gripped the blond locks. They only parted because Zoro tasted blood... that was dripping from Sanji's nose.

"You really are a pervert, aren't you?” Zoro laughed, wiping the trail of blood trickling down to Sanji’s mouth. 

"Can you really blame me? I have all this hot stuff pressing against me and pulling on my hair! I can't help it!"

"You are insufferable."

Zoro then took off one of his golden earrings and clipped it to Sanji's ear. 

"There,” he said and kissed Sanji's cheek. "Now everyone will know that this hot stuff here is all yours."

More blood dripped.

"All mine?"

"All yours."

When the crew came back, they were in the middle of bickering like always. But if the crew noticed the earring on Sanji’s ear, or the hands on waists, or the touches on faces, or even Zoro stealing a kiss, they didn’t mention anything.

Let them think they're slick.

--

The man squinted.

“Are you asking that because I said that you're going to Hell for drinking my last good beer?”

The attempted joke made his neighbor almost choke on his own spit.

“You're unbelievable, my friend!” He coughed. The man smiled a bit. “But no, I'm asking because you have a cross on your wall, but I've never seen you at church.”

The man thought for a bit. He remembered his mother taking him to church when he was a little kid. He remembered the decorations. He remembered playing with his cousins and friends there. He remembered meeting a boy with a sweet smile, and becoming his friend, and teasing the boy for being tall for their ages; he remembers the joy. But he also remembers the cold shoulder he received when the adults found out he had kissed the boy. He remembers his mother crying and his father getting angry.

He remembers asking God for help. Any help.

He remembers the silence.

“I mean… I don't really know, actually,” he scratched his head. “I do, I guess, but I keep the cross there because it keeps the bad spirits out, you know?”

It was a lie. He knew it, and so did his neighbor. He kept the cross because it was his mother's. He kept it because he remembers her telling him, through tears, that everything was okay and that God loved him. Keeping the bad spirits out was just a bonus… that he also didn't believe in.

“The bad spirits, huh?” His neighbor looked at him fondly, “yeah, keep telling yourself that, my friend.”

A minute of silence.

The day was clear, warm. The sun shone brightly and there was a soft breeze blowing.

“You know what?” His neighbor said, “we should go somewhere today. The park, maybe! It's such a nice day!”

The man grimaces.

“Yeah, we could… but not today, yes? I have, uh… some things I need to do today. You know, some work stuff.”

His neighbor looked at him. There was something in his gaze that the man couldn't quite figure out. It wasn't hostile, just… honest. He seemed to be looking straight into the man's soul.

“My friend, you need to get laid.”

“What?!”

A belly laugh.

“I'm just messing with you, don't worry” the neighbor said, still smiling. “But you do need to get out of the house sometimes. You need to meet new people. What if you meet The One?”

The man scoffed.

“God will send me The One”.

The neighbor smiled warmly.

“That's not how it works” he put his hand on the man's shoulder. “You actually need to do your part too”.

The man patted his neighbor’s hand.

“If God is truly omnipotent, He will send me The One.”

“Like a package, straight to your door?”

“Like a package, straight to my door, yes.”

They smiled at each other.

“You're impossible, my friend,” the neighbor got up and stretched. “Welp, I'm taking my daughter to the park. Poor little kid was dying to play in the swings the whole goddamn week.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Nah.”

“You fucker.”

The neighbor laughed. “See you later, my friend! Don't let your loneliness get you crazy.”

As his neighbor walked away, the man stared at his own hands. He tried to imagine someone holding them; tried to imagine a wedding band on his ring finger. The thought of having someone by his side felt… weird. Not necessarily good, but also not that bad. The problem was getting to meet this person, getting to know them, trying not to get disappointed when their flawed humanity inevitably showed.

He took a deep breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt in love. Heck, he couldn't remember the last time he met someone new, if he's not counting his neighbor. But he could remember one of his crushes, probably the first one. The boy with the sweet smile.

He blinked hard. His eyes were burning a bit; he felt his cheeks a bit damp. When had he started crying? He better get inside before his feelings spilled out on the green grass like stones.

—

Sometimes, the man would stop by the picture in the hall. His wife. His beautiful wife, smiling at the camera.

He knew he couldn't throw out that picture, nor hide it away. His wife was his pride and joy, the only person in God's green Earth that understood him in a fundamental way. He always left it next to the door because it reminded him of the day they met.

He was peacefully listening to the radio that day, enjoying some peace and quiet, when a frantic knock on his door could be heard. The person behind it was absolutely desperate.

He opened the door to find a woman looking like she ran half a marathon, panting, sweaty, barefoot and cradling something in her arms.

“Hi, hello, excuse me,” she said, running over her own words “um, could you please hide me in your house?”

“...what?”

She looked over her shoulder and pushed past the man.

“Close the door!” She whisper-yelled. He obliged.

The man turned to her and, after a few minutes of trying to formulate a polite way of asking what the actual fuck, he heard another knock, a bit less frantic this time. The woman ran towards the living room and he opened the door.

A police officer.

“Good morning! What seems to be the problem, officer?” He tried, nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe.

“Hello, sir. Have you seen a woman, blonde, kinda scrawny looking?”

“Um… no. Why?”

“She stole a cat.”

“...sorry… a cat?”

“Yes, a cat.”

His mind was reeling. A cat? Why would she steal a cat?

“Now that I'm thinking about it, officer… scrawny, you said?”

“Yes”

“I saw a scrawny looking person going that way,” he pointed to a random direction outside. “It could be her, I think. If you hurry up, I think you can still catch her. She runs really fast.”

The officer didn't seemed convinced, but the man did his best to keep a straight, cooperative face.

“Thank you sir. If you see something, please call us immediately.”

“Alright! Have a good day, officer!”

The man softly closed the door and waited for a few seconds to make sure that the officer had walked back to the police car before checking the peephole. Then, the man went on to search for the woman and found her sitting on his couch, curled up into herself, knees near her chest. She was sitting exactly below the wooden cross on the wall. He laughed to himself. The One, huh?

“Scrawny. That asshole.” She said.

As the man paid closer attention, he realized the woman was holding a small sphynx kitten, wrapped up in a blanket.

“So… you stole a cat.”

The woman seemed defensive. “She was being mistreated by that awful man. I merely saved her from a life of torment”.

He hummed.

She looked at him for a while, like she was searching for reasons to trust that stranger whose house she had invaded. She averted her eyes to the kitten. “Is the officer gone yet? I should go home, my mom is waiting for me”.

The man peeked through the window’s blinds. The officer was still there, looking at the house from inside the police car. He probably wasn't exactly convinced.

“You should stay here for a while” the man said. “You can use the telephone to talk to your mother”

As he finished talking, the woman's stomach rumbled loudly.

“Um… I made dinner.”

“I will accept the dinner,” she said. The cat meowed. “And she will too”.

He always remembered that day with a chuckle. The woman would lighten the house up, dance ballet in the kitchen while cooking, laugh so loud it would startle the cat. She was the life force that shooed away the gloominess the man had accepted as part of his life.

But she was gone.

Taken away from him too soon, the woman left a gaping hole in his heart. She died only a few years after their marriage. He couldn't understand how that happened: she went to sleep one day and never woke up.

The man felt her icy cold hands on that morning, and he remembers his whole world becoming just as icy. Her hands were never cold, she was sunshine in human form after all. Her absence felt, and hurt, like a phantom limb.

He couldn't remember if he cried that day. He knows he did, but he couldn't bring that day, nor the following week, from his memory. All he remembered was her telling him she loved him before going to sleep, and then her hands — and his heart — being cold the next morning.

—

After all went to Hell, the man found himself staring.

No, no, cut that. After all went to Hell, he found himself deciding. Deciding whether to let random people inside his house or not. After that, he found himself staring. Staring at a very tall, very weird man. His name was Yesenin, he learned.

Yesenin was a puzzle. He would just sit there, read some books and talk about the absurdity of it all.

The man couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why Yesenin was so interesting to him, why his presence alone effortlessly commanded so much of the man's attention. He couldn't figure out why he kept coming back to talk with Yesenin, even after being sure he was not a Visitor. Maybe it was Yesenin’s gaze, or his peaceful and melancholic aura, or his rare, weirdly familiar smile. He genuinely didn't know, but he was captivated.

One day, after he tested everyone and quieted down the butterflies in his stomach, he entered the living room and the scenery registered differently in his mind.

There was his normal living room, exactly the way he left it the last night, but his gaze was pulled to the elements of the scene in a very interesting order. There was his unorganized bookshelf; then, there was his couch; then, Yesenin, and finally, there was the cross on the wall.

He did a double take. Yesenin, then the cross. The cross, then Yesenin. Yesenin was sitting exactly below the cross, exactly under Jesus's gaze.

The man remembered a conversation he had long ago with his neighbor and a scrawny woman that invaded his house.

Very funny, he thought, half to himself, half to whoever was listening to his thoughts at that moment. And he might actually start laughing, if it wasn't actually creeping him out.

While trying to convince himself it was just a coincidence, he couldn't help but realize the butterflies had come back, especially when Yesenin turned his tired eyes to him. Oh, God, how he wishes it wasn't a coincidence.

–

After weeks of a living nightmare, they found themselves hiding in the basement.

The little girl and the cat were curled up together, sleeping. The man felt a bittersweet churn in his heart; half fondness for the cute scene, half sadness for all the loss. He remembered his neighbor, the little girl’s dad, his friend, and their house burning down.

He sighed and leaned his head back, the wall was cold against his scalp. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a way out of this situation. Would they be stuck here forever? Would the food last? He didn't knew.

All he knew was the feeling of a soft kiss being pressed against his cheek and an arm pulling him sideways into a warm body.

Yesenin.

Their relationship started in an interesting way. A chess game that led to him just kissing Yesenin, that led to a confession, that led to… other activities.

He still got goosebumps whenever he thought about it. He remembered the kiss they shared, and how he felt a jolt of electricity across his whole body, how his heart nearly jumped out of his throat, how he could finally melt into someone else's embrace once more.

Sometimes, he would catch himself staring at Yesenin, wanting to kiss him, to hug him, to bury his face into his shoulder and just forget everything else. Whenever Yesenin noticed the longing in his eyes, he would just come closer with a playful glint in his eye. If you want something, you can just ask, Yesenin would say before kissing him.

He was brought back to the present once again by Yesenin’s warm breath on his temple.

He hadn't realized when Yesenin came back, but he did remember him going to check if the door and the windows were still barricaded and intact.

“My good man, what plagues your mind?” Yesenin whispered, afraid of waking the little child and the cat up.

“I am terrified, my heart,” the man answered, also in a whisper. “Terrified. What if we never leave this basement? What if our food runs out? We can't keep a child here forever, she needs fresh air and space to play, and human connection and-”

Yesenin pulled him closer and hugged him tightly, almost as if he could squeeze out all the sadness off his good man. He didn't need to say anything else, the man understood it all with that hug. Yesenin would always be there, they would be okay for as long as they had each other, so he closed his eyes and let himself relax.

After a few minutes of letting his mind navigate through his memories like a boat drifting at the Lethe, he was struck with such an absurd string of thoughts that he couldn't help but giggle a bit. The conversation with his neighbor, the cross, his wife and Yesenin both sitting below it.

“Hm… you're laughing, love.” Yesenin kissed the crown of the man's head. “It's good to see happiness on your face, but may I ask why?”

“Nothing, dear. Just a stupid conversation I remembered.”

Yesenin looked at him expectantly.

“Well… Yesenin, would you ever like to get married?”

“That’s a very weird question, my good man” but Yesenin was never one to let his darling's musings go unanswered. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I realized we never really talked about it, even though you know I was married before, and because… someone once told me that God would deliver The One straight to my doorstep, just like He did to you.”

They laughed a bit to this, the absurdity of it all.

“Well, I was also married once, just like you,” Yesenin said, adjusting his position so the man could lay his head against his chest. He petted the man's head and continued: “but it wasn’t good. We fought all the time, never compromised on anything, she always tried to be better than everyone else, and I honestly despise that. She has been like this since I met her. We divorced two years into it.”

A moment of silence.

Yesenin started running his fingers through the man’s hair.

“Why did you married her, then?” The man asked.

“Because I had to.”

A confused look from the man.

Yesenin sighed.

“My parents were very religious, so they wanted me to marry a woman, specifically; a good woman, if possible, from a good family, with good money, and all that crap. But I don’t think I loved her enough for our marriage to work. She hated me and stressed me out, and I just couldn’t feel attracted to her.”

“You did it just to make God happy”

“I did it to make my parents happy. I don’t think God cares about this at all.”

Another moment of silence.

“I think,” Yesenin started, “that marriage isn’t something people need God’s approval to. I mean, I think He has bigger problems than that, He has more to do than to policy every single one of our decisions. And marriage is just a document, for fuck’s sake. I only married her because I couldn’t marry him.”

“Him?”

Yesenin’s eyes softened and a little smile played on his lips. “I met this boy at church when I was a kid. He became my best friend. But he did used to tease me for my height, that little fucker. He had the most beautiful blue-green eyes I've ever seen.” His face went serious, “one day, we were playing together at the park, and he just… kissed me. It was quick, just his lips touching mine for three seconds, but I felt a spark in my heart. We kept playing like nothing had happened, but, that night, I went to tell my mom about that. I was so excited that the boy I liked had kissed me, but she screamed at me for hours. She stopped me from seeing the boy and tattled on us for his parents. I never saw him again.”

The man was speechless, genuinely shocked. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t know if he should tell Yesenin that he was that boy, and that he never forgot how that kiss had felt, or if he just convinced himself it was a coincidence and let it be. He wanted to scream and jump around, he felt himself practically start vibrating, he wanted everyone to know that they had found each other again, but his shock was so strong that he just stared dumbly at Yesenin.

“What? Are you surprised that I like men?”

“W-what? We… we literally fucked a few days ago? Don’t you remember?" The man didn't know if he was more flabbergasted by the story or by Yesenin trying a joke.

“Please, my good man, don’t say this in front of the sleeping child.” Yesenin just flicked the man’s forehead lightly and pulled him closer. “But everything is fine now, because I have you here with me again.”

The man pulled away just enough so he could look into Yesenin’s eyes.

“You noticed?”

Yesenin cupped the man’s cheek.

“I noticed the moment I laid my eyes on you, my dear. I’ve only seen this shade in the boy’s eyes. Better yet, I’ve only seen this shade in your eyes. And twenty years later, I still cannot tell if they’re green or blue.”

The man smiled and kissed Yesenin's lips.

“They’re whatever color you like.”

—

After the sun started going back to something closer to normal, they finally could get out of the basement. The little girl was thrilled to finally get back to playing at the park, and the man was so relieved he could sleep in his bed again. Eventually, a woman that claimed to be the little girl’s aunt came to pick her up. They hugged each other and cried. She sat down with the man, Yesenin and the girl to talk and explain who she was. She said she was living abroad and heard of her brother’s death, but couldn’t get information about her niece, so she decided to wait until the borders were open again to get back and search for the girl. She thanked both men for taking care of the girl and promised to keep in touch. The girl cried when the time to leave arrived, she hugged both of the men and the cat, and promised to come visit when possible.

After the girl and her aunt had left, Yesenin and the man sat in silence at the kitchen table.

“The house is so quiet now that she isn’t here anymore,” the man said.

“It is. But at least now she is with her family” Yesenin reached out and grabbed the man’s hand, squeezing it softly.

“Yes” the man squeezed Yesenin’s hand back. But he couldn’t shake the sadness. He was going to miss the little one, but was glad she was safe.

“Well, I’m gonna get us some kombucha.” He brought Yesenin’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles before releasing it and getting up.

He walked through the corridor, and served them two cups of the tea. When he turned to get back to the kitchen, a light ray caught his eye. It landed exactly on his late wife’s picture. He smiled a bit, reminiscing about her for a little while.

“My love? Did the kombucha monster take you?” Yesenin called.

“Coming, darling!” He answered, dusting the picture lightly with his finger and making his way back to the kitchen.

Yesenin had never fussed over the picture. Never asked the man to put it away, or to forget the woman. In fact, sometimes the man would catch himself telling little funny anecdotes to him about his late wife and Yesenin would give him his unbroken attention and laugh alongside him. He would hold the man when the grief was too heavy on his shoulders and all he wanted to do was cry. Yesenin would never say a bad word about it, he never asked the man not to talk about her; he knew the love was still there, and, if anything, Yesenin felt proud of his good man for remembering his loved ones so deeply. The man noticed all of this and was so, so grateful for his acknowledgement of the man’s love for his late wife.

However, on the days when his brain was being specially mean to him, he would think that all of that meant Yesenin wasn’t taking their relationship seriously. Is he avoiding taking her place? Does he not want to be part of my life the way she was? Will he go away when he truly realises I still love her?

He confronted Yesenin about it one anxiety-filled day. They were playing chess at the kitchen table, but he couldn’t concentrate on the game, his thoughts were spiraling. Does he love me? Why doesn’t he ask me to take the picture away? Am I overreacting? Am I going crazy? Am I too ststuck in the past? Why can’t I just let her go? Why doesn’t he force me to let her go? He tried to stay calm, he knew none of it made any fucking sense, he knew it was just his mind being a prick and that Yesenin was doing his best, but his insides felt cold and weird, like he couldn’t breathe unless he said everything that was bothering and plaguing him.

He interrupted the game and spilled everything. He felt like throwing up, he couldn’t stop talking and felt himself getting deeper and deeper into despair as the words left his mouth.

When he finished, he asked if Yesenin did not love him.

Yesenin didn't answer; instead, he looked down to his clasped hands on the table. His vision was blurred with unshed tears, angry and sad tears. Yesenin wanted to say something, he wanted to scream all his love into the man’s face, he wanted to get up and wrap his arms around him and tell him that he could never replace her, but that he loved him nonetheless, that he knew the man’s heart had space for them both. But he couldn’t say anything; his throat was tight and his mouth was dry, the words just wouldn't come out.

Facing Yesenin’s silence, the man cried and left the room.

Yesenin was left alone, trying to control his breathing. He laid his forehead on the table and let himself finally cry.

Yesenin was never one to pray, but that night, after they went to sleep, he got up from the bed, walked to the woman’s picture, kneeled in front of it and cried.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he whispered through his sobs, “but, if you can, please, please teach me how to take care of him. Please show me the way to his heart, teach me how to love him the way you did.”

He then felt bed-warm arms wrapping around his shoulders and a pair of lips on the nape of his neck.

“Yesenin, my love, what are you doing here on this cold floor?” He heard the barely concealed tears in the man’s voice. “Why aren’t you in bed, by my side?”

“I was just talking to her, my dear” Yesenin answered, squeezing the man’s arms and closing his eyes, his own tears staining his cheeks and his voice. “Asking for that pumpkin pie recipe you always say she made like no one else.”

This earned a wet chuckle from both of them. Yesenin didn’t know how much the man had heard. He wondered if he had heard anything at all, but his thoughts were interrupted by the man sitting beside him and grabbing his hand.

“I am sorry, angel. I am so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that to you. It’s not your fault. I love you. Please, forgive me.” The man bowed to kiss Yesenin’s hand, his tears falling onto the soft skin as his lips touched it so sweetly it made Yesenin’s heart ache.

“It’s alright, my love. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you just how much I love you, I’m sorry I couldn’t whisper it when you needed it shouted. But, please, know I love you so much that it hurts sometimes.”

The man touched their foreheads.

“You don’t need to tell me, love. You don't need to love me the way she did because you already do it your own way. I saw it, I heard it, I know it.”

The next morning, the man took a candid picture of Yesenin holding their orange cat and smiling sweetly at the camera. He then framed the picture and put it beside the woman’s and the sphynx cat’s pictures.

“There,” he said, “all my loves in one place.”

Yesenin pulled him into a kiss.

“Thank you, my good man.”

–

The kitchen was candlelit. Soft music played on the radio and the pie they baked together was cooling down on the counter, spreading a deliciously sweet smell of pumpkin through the whole house.

They were preparing for another Poetry Night, a tradition created when they were still terrified to go outside and needed to keep other people safe inside their house. They would organize Poetry Nights with their guests so everyone could have a good time even when everything was going to shit.

Now that things were more or less back to normal, Yesenin and the man continued with the tradition. Every week, they would spend a night drinking tea, eating something nice and reading poetry to each other, some of their writing, some of famous poets.

That night, they decided on making the pie together, following the instructions left by the woman in their cookbook. They even danced slowly by the oven, the man's head pressed against Yesenin's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

When finishing doing the dishes, before they sat down to properly eat and read, the man took a few seconds to look at Yesenin. In that moment, Yesenin was the definition of comfort: he was wearing a deep green sweater and black sweatpants, and was barefoot, humming softly while setting the table. His eyes looked content, relaxed. He turned around and, seeing the man staring at him, smiled.

“Hello, darling”

At that moment, the man wondered if his tea had magically turned alcoholic, because he felt dizzy. Yesenin looked so calm and cozy, so at home, that the man couldn't think of a time that they weren't exactly like this. He felt such an intense wave of affection washing over him, that he couldn't stop the next words from clumsily tumbling out his mouth.

“Marry me.”

“What?”

He stood in front of Yesenin, grabbed his hands, almost desperately. “Marry me, Yesenin. Please”.

Yesenin looked a bit confused by the sudden ask. The man took a deep breath.

“I know we have our histories, I know this is hard for both of us, I know we cannot be married in front of the State or the Church,” the man felt himself start to tremble, “but you once told me to ask for the things I want, and I want to be your husband, Yesenin. We don’t even have to tell anyone, we don't need to throw a party, hell, nothing needs to change, but, please, give me the pleasure of being your husband.”

Yesenin was speechless for a few seconds, but his heart was so warm that all he wanted to do was to curl up around the man and never let go.

“My good man. My good, beautiful, sweet man” Yesenin cooed, bringing the man's hands to his lips and kissing his knuckles over and over again. “You are everything I wanted. You are my first love. You do not need to beg for what I already gave you. I can kiss you under the stars, I can write and read poetry to you, my delight. I can call you mine, I can love your body and your soul. If that's not a marriage, I am not sure what else God is looking for.”

Yesenin kissed the man’s forehead.

“Do you want me to call you my husband, darling?”

“Yes,” the man answered, almost a whisper. “Yes, please.”

Yesenin pulled him into a tight hug.

“So be it.” He said, sighing into the man’s hair and leaving a kiss on the crown of his head. “Now, let us sit down to eat. I don't want my husband to starve to death.”

The man felt like he was floating for the rest of the night. He hadn't even realized that they fell into such a domestic routine, but when Yesenin mentioned it, it was like the clouds parted. Of course he didn't need to ask, they were already part of each other's lives in such ways that could not be undone easily.

Later, when they were talking in bed, getting ready to go to sleep, Yesenin reached out and touched the man's face with his fingertips. He huffed a laugh.

“I still cannot tell if your eyes are blue or green, my good man,” he said, caressing the man's jaw with his knuckles. “But I can tell that they are the exact same colour that God used to paint salt water. I am but a small fisherman lost in your storm, my dear, and I will love you as a sailor loves the sea”.

The man kissed Yesenin, just because he could. His lips were a little chapped, but that was okay, they were his husband’s lips after all. His heart finally felt warm again.

—

Yesenin traced this path on the man's face with his fingertips over and over and over again whenever he had the chance, finishing with a little kiss on his beloved’s lips. Sometimes, he lingered on the ears, feeling the details of the cartilage; other times, on the cheeks, feeling them heat up under his touch. 

It was very cute to see the man getting flustered, or cracking a small smile when Yesenin would gently touch his earlobe.

Admittedly, he could not keep his mind off the man. Every opportunity he had, he was touching him, or thinking about him, or looking at him. In fact, he often found himself doing that exact path with his gaze, sometimes from afar, when the man was at the other side of the room; or when there were people around them; or when the man was asleep and the diffuse morning light graced his skin and allowed for details to be seen clearly, his favorite moment to gaze at his good man.

Yesenin would feel like a creep at moments like this, but he couldn't help himself. The man just seemed so peaceful when he slept, unburdened by worries, sadness or guilt. It was almost as if they were free from all of the terrible things happening around them.

He would catalogue in his mind every little sound the man made in his sleep, every way his brow would furrow or soften, depending on the dream’s content. He'd like to touch him, but feared disturbing his beloved’s earned rest. Well, he was perfectly content in just letting his eyes wander from the man’s face to his neck, down to his bare chest rising and falling slowly, and finally to their intertwined hands.

They had drifted apart during the night, it seemed, but their hands stayed connected, as if they were saying to each other: “I’m not going anywhere”.

Yesenin knew that soon they would have to get up, to make breakfast for everyone in the house. He knew that the man would have to check everyone, always paranoid about having a Visitor inside their house.

Their house. Ah, he would feel giddy with excitement and cold with fear whenever he thought about that. 

He knew that dangers awaited them for the whole day, but, for now, he had this soft moment, and to him, it was eternity.

He got gently taken away from his thoughts by a soft squeeze on his hand and his darling languidly stretching. No words were exchanged yet, but sleepy blue eyes stared warmly at him and a little smile appeared on the man's face.

He’s adorable.

Yesenin reached out and, with his fingertips, restarted the path.

--

He was judging lives. It didn't matter that some of them weren't human anymore. Who was he to decide who died and who lived?

Every time he pulled the trigger, he could feel the spilled blood weighing onto his very soul. He could hear their despair, their desire to live.

He wished he felt this same blind desire to keep on living.

Why am I doing this? Why am I holding the gun? I should be the one on the other end. I should be the one begging to be kept alive. I should, I should, I should-

"Good man?"

He snapped out of the trance. Who...? Ah.

Yesenin. Cold, avoidant, beautiful Yesenin.

Yesenin with the big hands; Yesenin with the intelligent eyes; Yesenin with the handsome face; Yesenin with the smart mind, YeseninYeseninYesenin-

"My good man, are you okay?"

Fuck. He should stop getting distracted.

"Ah... yes... I think."

An eyebrow raised.

"I... um... need to check you."

“You still believe those stupid signs?”

“Please,” the man sighed, impatient.

"Hm. What do you need?"

You. "Your hands".

Yesenin outstretched his pale hands. Long fingers and clean fingernails. Thank God.

He slowly grabbed his hands. Just to inspect them closely, he told himself, but this small gesture made his stomach flip.

"Your hands are clean," he said, releasing them. "May I check your eyes?"

He was met with an eyeroll and an annoyed huff. Before Yesenin could react, he felt a warm touch on his cheek, a thumb softly placed below his eye.

The other man looked at him intently. Deeply. In a moment, his eyes flicked down… to his... lips? No, Yesenin could only be imagining things. In no way he felt the same... tingling, the same weird feeling that bloomed from the center of his chest. His eyes were back to Yesenin's own, and hope was lost.

"You're clean" he murmured. With a flinch, Yesenin realized how close they were, a mere hair, a breath away.

The man stepped back and Yesenin's mind was a loop of what if what if what if…

What if I dared? What if I kissed him? What if I ran my hands through his hair? What if he kissed me back? What if he held me? What if he pushed me back? What if he shot me?

But these questions would not be answered now, as the man was already retreating, gun in hand, to check the other guests.

--

After checking everyone, and cracking open a beer, the man sat on his bed. He knew he probably shouldn't care that much. He didn't knew these people at all... he didn't knew Yesenin at all, did he?

He knew that Yesenin had a very pessimistic view on life, but he also saw the kindness in his eyes. Yesenin wasn't harmless, but he was, indeed, peaceful, and a poet, if the way he delivered his nihilism is anything to go by. He was his very first guest after this apocalypse started. He felt he could trust Yesenin with his life. Even though their dialogues were, more often than not, hopeless, he felt good talking to him. He wondered how much closer they could be; he wondered what could have happened if only they'd met earlier.

He wondered if the butterflies in his stomach were caused by the anxiety from the cataclysm or by the possibility of Yesenin owning the key to his heart. The man sighed and put his head on his hands, stuck in a loop of what if what if what if...

--

On the next night, a sharp knock at the door. A yellow Hazmat suit.

"Hello. We need to take two of your guests."

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

"Bring back the people you took before. You aren't taking anyone else" he was having none of it. All those soldiers and agents could go fuck themselves, for all he cared.

"Listen. You either give us two people, or we are going to kill everyone in there, do you understand?"

The man cursed under his breath. He couldn't afford losing more people, but he also couldn't let everyone be killed. Innocent people. Scared people. A child. Yesenin.

A warm hand on his shoulder.

"My good man, let me go with them."

He looked up and met warm eyes.

"Let me go with them, it couldn't be worse than the situation we are already in".

He felt cold. The floor disappeared from under him.

"No." I would rather go with them for you to survive. "No, you stay."

"I'm not a dog," the corner of his mouth quivered. "I know how to take care of myself."

"No! I won't let you go!"

He hated how his voice cracked at the end. He hated this situation, he hated F.E.M.A., he hated Yesenin for making him feel so scared of losing him.

Don't go! I can't be without you!

Just by thinking what could happen to him at their hands…

The agent banged on the door.

"If you don't give anyone, I'm coming in."

"If you do this, you will get shot! Try me, motherfucker!" He was trembling, gun pointed to where he guessed the agent's chest would be. He wasn't about to let his house get broken into like this; not without a good fight. Yesenin started to protest, the agent kept banging on the door, and he put his finger on the trigger-

"Hey! Wait! Don't shoot! We have these papers. Are these what they're looking for?"

The guy with the coat and the cashier girl.

"Here says that... uh... F.E.M.A. should take whoever has these papers to test if they're Visitors." The girl tried to smile.

They walked to the door.

"Here says th..that we will be back in a f-few days... so don't worry... about us!"

The girl opened the door. Her hands were trembling slightly.

"Fucking finally" the agent scoffed. "We will bring them back... if they're clean. Have a good night."

The man watched, helplessly, as two of his oldest guests were taken by the agent. He closed the door with a soft click. He couldn't feel his feet. Couldn't feel his face. His mind was blank. All he could feel was cold, a stark and painful cold that enveloped his entire body. I failed to protect them. I failed. They're gonna die and I let them. I failed them I failed them I failed them-

A gentle, but firm, hand enveloped his. An anchor.

"Hey, everything is okay," a soft whisper. The hand coaxed him to release the white-knuckled grip he had on the gun. "My good man, they will be okay."

He felt himself releasing the gun, and heard it being placed against the wall. He desperately needed something else to cling to. Something solid, something warm. He felt weak, like the world was collapsing over him.

A sob crawled up his throat and, in an instant, long arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders and waist. The hand that disarmed him now cradled his head and pushed it softly against a solid chest. He hugged back with a strength he didn't knew he had at that moment, gripping the back of Yesenin's shirt.

"They'll be back. They'll be back" was murmured into his hair like a mantra.

He hugged Yesenin like his life depended on it and let himself cry.

Cold, avoidant, beautiful Yesenin, now a rock for him to cling to; now someone who shared his pain; now someone willing to share warmth and to be there.

They stood there, at the door, in the dark, together, until his sobs subsided and his screams quiet down. Until Yesenin's heartbeat was all he could hear.

--

The next day arrived with a splitting headache.

After the whole last night situation, two more guests arrived at his doorstep. A young man with his mouth sewn shut and a runaway teenager.

How could he let them in when he knew for a fact that F.E.M.A. would come back again? How could he let them outside, at their own luck? The girl's parents were nowhere to be found and the young man was clearly in pain. Who the fuck sews someone's mouth shut??

After Yesenin dismissed himself to go to sleep and the other guests arrived, the man went to his room and let himself cry a bit more.

Oh, how he wished none of this was happening.

And now, there he was, with his head and eyes hurting from the whole night of crying, trying to reason with a teen on why she should let him check her teeth and then trying to decipher what language the young man spoke.

Truly a nightmare.

After this struggle, the man found himself in front of the living room's door.

He didn't need to check Yesenin. He already knew that he wasn't a Visitor. Then, why did he kept coming back to him?

Could it be curiosity? Pity? Interest?

He wished he didn't knew the answer.

"Hey."

"...hey."

"Did you sleep well, good man?"

He knew it was formality. He knew Yesenin could see the bags under his eyes and his sluggish movements.

"No."

"Hm, I figured. You look like you got dragged around the field by a pack of Visitors."

What an asshole.

"Very funny." He plopped heavily on the sofa besides Yesenin.

A second of silence.

"You ain't gonna check me?" Yesenin asked, softly, almost sweetly.

"No." He, way too carelessly, tossed the gun on the floor and hung his head between his knees. "I trust you."

His voice was small, fragile, like he was afraid of speaking too loudly and cause that moment of calmness to shatter.

He felt a ghost touch on his neck. Hesitant slender fingers cupping his nape, and a thumb caressing his skin. He couldn't find the strength to flinch away. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he wanted to drown in that touch. Maybe he wanted to grab Yesenin's wrist and pull him in and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

Maybe, that way, he could forget the nightmare he was in.

But he just let himself be touched. He just let himself be comforted by the man he loved.

Loved?

Could he love someone he met just a few days ago? Could he love someone that he wouldn't have met if it weren't for these terrible circumstances? Could he love someone as desperate as he was?

He didn't have the answer to any of those questions. But Yesenin's touch was like a balsam, and that's all that mattered at that moment.

"My good man, look at me, please."

He raised his head, slowly. Yesenin's eyes were sad, but overflowing with a weird, soft affection that made the man's heart throb.

"You did your best. You did your best to keep them alive, you did your best to keep all of us alive." Yesenin teased a smile. "In this world you can search for everything, except Love and Death. They find you when the time comes. If it's time for Death to find your guests, then let it. But don't keep yourself slave of things you can't control."

He was speechless.

Yesenin was right, he knew that. He knew F.E.M.A. would keep coming back. He knew others may come and may go. He knew he would need to take more lives until all of this was over. But he also knew Yesenin would be there. He needed him to be there.

"Love and Death, huh?" He smiled a sad little thing, barely there, almost a grimace, but enough for that moment.

"Yes. Hm, you have dimples," Yesenin noted.

"I do," his eyes flicked from Yesenin's eyes to his lips. What if what if what if what if-

The man could feel himself inching closer, bit by bit, entranced. Yesenin came closer too, just a tiny bit. They were breathing into each other by now. Yesenin ran his other hand through the man's hair. The man closed his eyes.

A little knock at the living room door. It cracked open.

“Sr, fn, vcxfhv nv, dsviv rh gsv yzgsilln?” The young foreigner man.

Yesenin pretended to cough and retracted, busying his eyes with a random poetry book he found.

“Sorry, I can't understand you,” the man said, in an apologetic tone. He got up. “Do you need something?”

He left the room with the foreigner, but, before passing through the door, he looked back at Yesenin, for just a second. Yesenin's cheeks were flustered, he kept his eyes down, with a saddened expression. Could he be- no, I must be imagining things.

When the door closed, Yesenin ran his hands on his face. What was he doing? Trying to kiss the man? Absurd! But what if he did? What if he reciprocated? He came closer to me…

He sighed and opened the book again. Maybe he could forget the bubbling desire, maybe he could rationalize that he couldn't love someone in such a short period of time.

Maybe he could just accept that he wasn't enough for the man.

--

That night, the man heard a knock on the door.

Oh, God, let it not be F.E.M.A. again-

A pale man flashed a way-too-big smile. The same pale man from other nights.

“What do you want?”

“Hey… you’re still locked up in this house? Are you trying to prevent what’s coming?”

The man rested his forehead against the door, brows furrowed and eyes closed. He took a deep breath.

“Just go away, please.” I am so tired. I want this to end.

“Liiiiisten… are you home alone?”

The man clutched his gun.

“No, I am not. You should leave now.”

The pale man laughed a terrible, ugly laugh.

“It’s your lucky day, little man. I gotta go, but who knows what will happen tomorrow! Maybe you won’t be so lucky then… Remember: the dogs run the world now. Will you join them?”

He slowly got away from the door and disappeared into the darkness. The man was trembling. He wanted to throw up, wanted to scream. What the fuck is happening?

He turned and nearly jumped out of his skin as another tall, pale man stood behind him.

“Fuck, Yesenin! Don’t do that! I could’ve shot you!”

“Then you would’ve actually done me a favor.”

The man looked angrily at him.

“Sorry for that. Who was it? Another weirdo?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because you looked and sounded worried,” Yesenin said, almost sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. “I wanted to know if you would need… help… again.”

Oh. Okay.

The man sighed. He felt his chest warm.

“Thank you for this, I guess,” the man said, patting Yesenin’s arm. “But I’m fine. It’s just this weird ass guy. He’s definitely a Visitor, but, as long as I’m not alone in the house, he can’t come in.”

“Hm, no worries about it, then. I’ll keep you company for as long as you like.”

The man blushed. Yesenin could be saying this just to be a good guest, right? Yeah, probably. So why was he feeling like a teenager in love?

--

The next morning, the man found himself staring at the TV, but not actually listening to any of it. The words of the Pale Man (as he used to call him) echoed through his mind constantly.

The dogs run the world now. What could this mean? Does it mean that his time is running out? That he won't ever find solace or tranquility, be it in Death’s arms or… another pair of arms…

He didn't know, and it was eating him alive.

--

A few more days passed, and the cycle repeated itself constantly: new people would arrive; at night, F.E.M.A. would come back to take one or two of his guests; the Pale Man would come and threaten him; he would go to sleep, wake up next morning and check everyone. Everyone but Yesenin.

Yesenin would always hug and comfort him when F.E.M.A. took someone. He also did this when the foreigner man decided to leave and try to get the train back home. He did this when the preschool teacher shot herself.

They talked a lot, too. They would spend hours talking about anything: beer, poetry books, the apocalypse, the other guests, stories of old. He felt a strong connection to Yesenin, they were friends, after all… just friends.

They would also laugh together, even though it was a bit rare, and normally when they both were drunk. The man liked Yesenin’s laugh, it was rich and strong, and Yesenin would always observe and compliment the man’s smile and dimples.

“Why are you so obsessed with them?” The man would ask one day, when they were playing chess with an old table the man found in his closet.

Yesenin had told a very bad joke that caught the man by surprise and startled a laugh out of him. Yesenin, then, noted on his dimples once again.

“I’m not ‘obsessed’,” he said, while taking one of the man’s rooks with his bishop. “It's just that they’re kinda difficult to appear, so it always leaves me… surprised, I guess.” He almost didn’t said this part, and the man had to pause for a few seconds to understand what he said. He noted a light dusting of pink in Yesenin’s cheeks, and felt his own heating up, too.

“Um… well… thank you, then,” the man murmured, moving his pawn to capture Yesenin’s bishop.

“Hm, my good man, check-mate.”

“What?”

Yesenin smiled. “You moved your pawn and endangered your Queen, so I take her, and this leaves your King vulnerable to my rook.”

Yesenin demonstrated the check-mate.

“Shit. I lost all my skills in this game.” The man ruffled his short hair back.

“Nah, you played well,” Yesenin started reordering the pieces. “Your mind is just elsewhere.”

Yes, in you. He wanted to answer. He spent the whole game looking at Yesenin’s hands, his eyes, his lips… anywhere but the table or the pieces.

He wanted to tell Yesenin how he felt. He wanted to say that all these days of talking had cemented inside of him the sureness of his liking to the other man. He didn’t knew if it was love, but by God if it wasn’t a good feeling. He felt weird, yes, but in a good way. He was afraid of being vulnerable, of showing Yesenin his worst side, of daring to touch Yesenin with such dirty hands. He was scared of Yesenin turning his back on him, of Yesenin realizing that he was way too good for the man. But, at the same time, he wanted nothing else but to grab Yesenin’s face and scream how much he liked him, how much he wanted to wake up next to Yesenin everyday, how much he wanted them. He wanted to tell him how much he feared Death if it meant that She would separate them.

He looked up and found Yesenin already watching him. Blue, intelligent eyes staring at his soul.

“My good man, what are you thinking about? You put up your pieces all wrong.”

He would spend the rest of his life wondering what gave him the courage in that moment. Perhaps it was the threat of imminent Death, or the possibility of Love finding him. In any way, he decided he couldn't wait anymore.

He got up from his chair, walked around the table and stopped right in front of Yesenin.

“What are you doing?” Yesenin began to ask, but was cut short with the man gently cradling Yesenin's face with trembling hands. The man took a deep, shaky breath and kissed his lips. Softly at first, just a peck. Then another, and another. Testing the waters.

Yesenin paused for a second, and then his hand snaked to the man’s nape, his pupils blown wide.

"Come here."

They kissed. Deeply. Slowly. Once, twice, three times.

Yesenin pulled the man onto his lap, holding his hips. The man looped his arms around Yesenin's shoulders and kissed him again, this time more desperately, like he was compensating all the yearning, all the pain, all the time lost. Maybe he was.

He felt his shirt being lifted a little and a shiver ran down his spine. He broke the kiss with a soft whine. "Yesenin... ah- wait..." big hands were under his shirt, caressing his back with featherlight touches, "...wait, please."

"I'm waiting, dear." The hands stilled on his waist. "Is this alright?"

Dear.

"Yes, it's alright," he said, resting their foreheads together. "It's just..."

"Too soon?" A whisper.

"A bit."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. It feels... good."

He didn't actually felt it was too soon, it's just that... he wasn't used to this kind of touch, a gentle, loving touch. A touch not meant to harm, but to comfort. It was, indeed, alien to him. But Yesenin made it feel so... natural, as if it was supposed to happen exactly like that.

Yesenin hummed low on his throat, his eyes trained on the man's. He drank his gaze like a thirsty man. They were both blushing, faces hot from being so close to each other.

The man touched his lips to Yesenin's forehead and pulled his face into his neck. He could feel Yesenin's breath under his ear, felt small kisses being pressed right above the collar of his turtleneck, going up to his cheek.

"I shall kiss you 'till you swoon, crush you like a bloom" Yesenin whispered.

"You're... hm... a poet."

"Specially for you, handsome"

For fucks sake, this man will be the death of me.

But a sour doubt still crept up his spine.

"Yesenin."

"Yes, darling"

"Tell me you're not doing this for pity"

Yesenin paused, pulled back, brows furrowed.

"What?"

"Tell me you mean this, that you're not doing this merely to comfort me, or to trick me into believing something that's not real. Tell me... tell me you want... this. Tell me you want me," a little sigh. "Because I want you, Yesenin, so fucking bad. I don't want to choke on my desire."

Yesenin saw the brokenness in the man's eyes. He saw the fear of betrayal. He saw the fear of abandonment, the fear of being denied the one thing he craved so much. He was starving, and Yesenin could give him what he was hungry for, but could also withhold it from him.

Yesenin could never do this to him.

"Dear, never ask me this again", he cupped his face with one hand, the other caressing his waist. "I see your heart in your eyes. Please don't doubt that I can take good care of it."

The man buried his nose into Yesenin's shoulder. He could feel his pulse, his blood running. A reminder that Yesenin was alive and well.

"I don't pity you," Yesenin whispered into his hair. "You take care of all of us in here, you deal with unknown horrors every night, you keep your cool even when there's a Visitor here." He kissed his temple. "I don't pity you. I admire you. I want you. You are a good man; my good man."

The man's heart ached. It ached so sweetly. He lifted his head and looked into Yesenin's eyes. He saw care and compassion. He wanted to melt into Yesenin's hands, he wanted to feel at home, to feel at peace in his embrace.

“I told you I was going to keep you company for as long as you want me around. I meant it,” Yesenin said, kissing the crown of the man’s head.

"Thank you." He kissed Yesenin's face, his nose, his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. "Thank you, my heart."

Yesenin received the kisses with grace, and kept caressing the man's waist, feeling the smooth skin, humming softly and smiling like a fucking idiot. He was so gone. Eventually, the butterfly kisses strayed to his neck and turned into open-mouthed ones and little suctions at the delicate skin there.

"Hmm… handsome, I think... I think we should go to your room... for this..."

They got up, but not in a hurry. They had all the time they wanted. They kept sharing caresses. Soft touches that raised goosebumps, sweet kisses that lasted an eternity, hugs that fixed the broken pieces of their hearts.

When the door locked behind them, the man let Yesenin undress him, let him kiss him, let him touch him everywhere, and they loved each other until they were sated and tired.

He laid his head on Yesenin's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He looked up, still a bit breathless, and was met with sleepy eyes and a soft smile. He reciprocated.

"There they are! My favorite dimples."

The man traced with his fingertips the small bruises he left on the taller man's skin. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe that Love had found him first than Death. He couldn't believe he was allowed to touch Yesenin like that. He sighed and let himself sink into his darling’s soft embrace.

"Yesenin"

"Yes, love."

Love.

"Thank you."

--

I spent the whole Friday dying to draw Krishna. I listened to these songs and it was all I could think of

I was listening to these songs and imagining Krishna playing his flute and dancing on a flower field. I don’t think I will draw this exact scene, but I do want to make a bigger version of the sketch.

I loved making his hair! And I think I could’ve done better with his hands and arms, but anyways.