Heterosexuality? Nein Danke

It's fucking infuriating.

There's all this resentment, and anger and..guilt. And he doesn't know what to do with any of it. So he drinks. It's all he can do to keep the buzz underneath his skin at bay, the subtle need for violence contained. He downs a bottle every few hours and by the end of the day he's sloshed enough to forget about it, even just for a few minutes. Those are the best minutes of his day.

The fact is- at the end of a bottle lies predictability. There's no coffin shaped boat docking at the harbor, no giant clone sending him a million miles from home, no half-assed letter tearing under the pressure of his grip.

No. There's only the glass bottom, and the warmth that wraps around his body.

The first time Sanji wakes up, he wails so loudly it can be heard throughout the entire palace. It's harrowing and raw in a way that eats at his soul- tears out pieces he doesn't think he's ever going to get back. The fallout is almost worse- he doesn't enter the room but he can hear the screams- the crying. Chopper is crying too. One by one his friends burst into the room and before he knows it, he's the only one not inside.

He can hear their muddled words through the thin paper walls. There's no way to miss Nami's reassurances, and Luffy's quiet promises, and Usopp's sadness. No way to tune out the screams coming from his dried out throat, and the thrashing against the tatami. Eventually it all quiets down into a buzz not unlike the one beneath his skin. As the sun sets and candles are lit, their figures appear onto the paper- like characters in a shadow theatre.

He doesn't go in. Doesn't think he'd be welcome.

And that's fine. If he can save Sanji some pain by disappearing entirely, that's what he's going to do.

He climbs the long branch hovering over the palace, tucks himself away in a crevice between the wood. It feels good, stable. Here, no one can find him. For an hour or two, he can pretend he's somewhere else- far away.

The liquor goes down quickly, and the time passes even quicker. Suddenly, thousand of tiny white dots appear in the night sky- painting an image as beautiful as it is haunting.

He imagines her up there, waiting.

He won't let her down. He won't let anyone down, ever again.

“..ro?”

Someone's voice calls to him, distant, faded.

“Zoro?”

Slowly, it begins getting closer- its body taking shape. Light but persistent. Uncharacteristically serious. A hand is shanking his shoulder, and it causes the world to come back into place tilted, wrong. He groans and covers his eyes- the light too bright.

“..Luffy?”

The captain’s face slowly turns solid, its features settling into place. There's a strange sort of tiredness in Luffy's eyes, one he doesn't show all too often. A heaviness settles inside his stomach, then. He realizes how he probably looks.

The awkward stance he was sleeping in, the empty bottle thrown to the side.

Fuck, he's pathetic.

“Stupid- I've been searching for you all day.”

A weight settles against his chest as Luffy engulfs him in a tight hug. For a second he struggles to realize it- the contact. The heat of it. He wraps his hands around Luffy's back for no particular reason other than the formality of it.

“Sorry.”

Luffy has been searching for him all day. He's taken the time to look for Zoro when he should be in that room, making sure Sanji is okay. He's the captain, he shouldn't be-

“Don't be sorry. Be there.”

He shudders.

“I can't. He doesn't want me there.”

That's the truth, isn't it? Sanji needed him. He was in trouble, and Zoro was too fucking selfish to realize it. He doesn't deserve to be in that room. Not after what happened. He doesn't deserve to be near Sanji, near any of them.

He doesn't deserve to be here at all.

“Maybe. But he needs you. And you need him too.”

Wetness gathers in his eyes. He'll never admit it, but for a few seconds Zoro allows himself to tuck his face into Luffy's shoulder.

Then, like nothing happened, he pulls back and wipes his eyes. He can't cry. Doesn't have the right. Not when Curly’s sitting in that room, traumatized and scarred.

“Fine. I'll go. Just..don't expect anything.”

Luffy doesn't respond. He just smiles, bright like the sun.

He doesn't know what to expect when he opens the sliding door. Glares, insults maybe. He knows they've been talking about him, about the distance he's placed between himself and the rest of the crew. He didn't have time to think about it before. Not with the raid ahead of them. But now it stands glaring, apparent. The last few weeks have proven he's incapable of being their rock. He didn't just fail Sanji, but all of them.

Still, Luffy tasked him with seeing the cook. It's not his place to ignore the captain’s orders.

He will do what he can.

The first thing he notices upon stepping inside is the amount of machines surrounding Sanji. Of course he knew the extent of the injuries, the severity of them. But still- it's jarring to finally get a look on how badly the cook is hurt. He's more bandages than skin. Most of his face is covered, his hair too. He can only assume the same applies to everything under the sheet that’s wrapped around him.

He's laying on a mat near the center of the room, pillows surrounding him. Nami's there. Usopp, too. They look nothing short of miserable. Zoro doesn't blame them.

“Finally decided to show up?”

She sounds angry, but mostly just..hurt. It's hard to conjure up a response so he just walks to the center of the room- his footsteps echoing across the walls of the room awkwardly. He sits with his legs crossed, Usopp at his side.

“Nami..”

The sniper’s voice is warning, agitated. He guesses he's not the only one who's been on edge lately.

“..Sorry. I'm..I think I need to sleep for a bit. Can you keep an eye on him?”

He swallows down the lump in his throat. Part of him is relieved to finally have something to do, the other wants to crawl in a hole and disappear.

“Sure.”

No further words are exchanged between them before she leaves. As she stands up, all Zoro can notice is the shake of her bruised knees, her uneven footsteps fading away behind him.

It's just him and Usopp, then. And Sanji. Not that the cook seems to be any bit awake. He wonders why Luffy told him to come down here if he knew Sanji was sleeping.

He looks so..small. Sure, his facial hair has grown, and his cheekbones stick out in the way a child's never would. But stuffed between pillows, covered by wires and machines, there's a certain child-like quality in his stature.

“It's scary, right?”

Usopp's voice cuts through his thoughts. Their gazes remain on the cook, on the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“..Yeah.”

“He screamed so loud when he woke up. Chopper had to drug him so he wouldn't rip the wires out.”

Sounds like the cook. He doubts Sanji would be happy about being strapped to a bunch of machines. If everything was normal, and the bandages were only wrapped around his chest, or his legs, or his head, he assumes Sanji would've already ridden himself of any tubes. But things aren't normal. And they might never be again. So the oxygen masks sits over his mouth, and the bandages remain wrapped tightly, and the cook remains all too still.

“I can't believe..we weren't even there for it. He got hurt..so badly, and we weren't-”

He really wishes Usopp would shut up.

“It's not your fault. The cook made his own choices.”

It's so easy to say, but so hard to believe. He knows Usopp must feel the same way, if the grip he has on his thighs is anything to go by.

“It should be that easy.”

Minutes pass, but the words cling onto him bitterly. Should be that easy. But it isn't. They can't look at it in such an isolated way. Not when Sanji went off on some suicidal mission to save them. To keep them safe.

Fucking cook.

Idiot.

The air inside the room is stale. That fact is more apparent than ever, now. For a moment, the cook's breathing staggers- like he's seeing something in his sleep. He turns his head ever so slightly- just enough for a golden strand to fall in the crevice between his nose and his cheek.

There's no thought behind it. There's only his hand drifting over Sanji's freezing cheek, tucking the strand back into place behind his ear. His hair has gotten long, longer than usual. Were the circumstances any different, Zoro would say it suited him. He'd run his hands through it- feel the warmth gathering at his nape.

He's not supposed to look like this. Locks wild and unkept, skin greasy.

He'd hate it.

“Do you..need a moment?”

His hand snaps back like it's been burnt- at this point, he wishes it was. Maybe if touching Sanji actually burned him, he'd be able to keep himself away.

..No, not really.

“I'm fine.”

Usopp seems uncomfortable, shifting his weight nervously. The sniper's tired eyes shift about the room- until he finally pushes himself up and stares down at Zoro, his stance firm and his gaze guilty.

“ ‘m sorry, I think I need some air. Can you..”

Tilting his head, Usopp nods to the subject of their conversation. The cook's broken body remains unresponsive as usual.

“Sure.”

After that, it's just formality.

“Thanks, Zoro.”

Usopp waits a few moments before fleeing the room, the heavy thud of the sliding door being the only thing remaining of his presence. The result- a silence so loud it seems almost deafening.

There's nothing to distract him from his thoughts, now. No person to take the cook out of his mind, and no bottle to numb his sinful feelings. The only thing left is Sanji and Zoro alone in a room. Something familiar, but entirely different. Because now there's no calloused fingers tracing along his ribs. No soft lips pressing the taste of tobacco into his mouth. No pain, and no fire, and no insults being thrown at him, and no loving words whispered into his ear.

And there might never be again.

All because the cook is an idiot who thought he needed to handle everything on his own. He doesn't get it.

He can't understand.

Why didn't Sanji trust them? Why did he think they couldn't -wouldn't- take this on for him? If he was honest from the start, maybe things would've turned out different. Better. Maybe he wouldn't be laying in a cot, mutilated, scarred.

“..Fucking idiot. You stupid, selfish bastard.”

He hunches down and covers his face with his hand, tries to collect himself as best as he can. Getting his skittish heart to calm down is harder than he'd ever admit to. Every time his breathing stabilizes a different horrible thought will appear inside his head- images of explosions, and Chopper crying, and flesh being ripped apart.

“..careful. I might start thinking you actually like me.”

His breath hitches.

There between the gaps in his fingers, the cook’s eyes are open, his ocean gaze pinned onto Zoro- his shoulders shaking.

“Cook.”

There's something haunting about the way those eyes look now. Something missing between the turquoise and the teal, a shine left behind on the outskirts of Whole Cake Island. Weakly, Sanji's head turns to the other side. Like he can't even bear to look at Zoro, like his presence alone is enough to become uncomfortable.

“You shouldn't have come.”

He hears the words, he understands the reasoning. But anger sparks inside him nonetheless, a terrible fury he's not composed enough to contain. He doesn't know if it's the betrayal or the exhaustion that pushes him in the end.

“Fuck you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them.

“Fuck you-”

And once he begins, it's impossible to stop. His anger becomes a boulder rolling down a hill, picking up speed with every second that passes.

“You- you selfish piece of shit!”

There's adrenaline pumping through his chest now. A force he's not strong enough to stop, an emotion he can't contain.

“You got your fucking hands blown off and you still won't let us help you! Your crew!”

“Fuck off-”

“No, I won't fuck off! That's what your shitty family put in your head, isn't it? That you don't deserve our help. That we should all leave before it's too late. Well newsflash, I don't fucking care what you think of yourself. You can be as pathetic as you want, but you still have a job to do. You're going to let Chopper help you. You're going to heal so you can cook again.”

Something like rage flashes across the cook's face. Under the sheets, his shaking body rocks- an indecisive movement.

“What the hell are you even talking about? I can't cook. I can't do anything. There's no job for me here anymore."

Huh..?

Tears gather in the corners of the cook's eyes- they form into swirling puddles before sliding down his cheeks, soaking into the bandages there.

“I don't know what to do- I can't- I can't face Zeff like this. I can't make him take care of me- he's already done too much. But I- I don't know where else to go. I don't-”

A sob rips out of his throat- a cry painful and visceral.

“Where am I going to go?”

At first, he doesn't understand what the cook is blabbering about. Then it hits him- the implication between the words.

The notion that Sanji would leave the crew is so ridiculous, so otherworldly- for a few seconds, he can't help but just..stare. Watch as Sanji retreats into himself, trying to stifle the wracking sobs that leave him. He realizes, then, that this might be the first time he's seen the cook cry.

He takes a deep breath, fists clenched on his sides.

“You're not going anywhere.”

I won't let you go.

He'd sooner die than let the cook slip from his grasp again.

Leaning down, Zoro places his forehead against the cook's. He feels every emotion- every subtle tremor of Sanji's body.

“Hear that? You're stuck with us, cook.”

The moment he feels Sanji's head begin to shake, he places a palm on each side to keep him steady. Grounded. He ignores the words, the quiet whispers of let go asshole, bastard moss.

“I've got you.”

It doesn't matter what insults are thrown his way. He can take it. For Sanji, he can take anything.

Later, when the sun begins to set and every tear has been spilled, and every insult has turned into a quiet confession, their lips meet under the warm candlelight. It's not like their usual makeouts- there's no blood or teeth knocking against eachother- just restraint. Tenderness. And when Sanji whispers into his mouth I don't want to go, the only response that he's able to conjure up is

then don't.

Stay.