( zoro waits and waits and waits for another dumb bullshit response scribbled across the page, fingers practically itching to fight, but an answer never comes β which honestly pisses him off even worse. the desire to throw his notebook into the fucking river is strong, but he just barely resists, claws poking even deeper holes through the cover before he eventually just shoves it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
he should find somewhere else to go, at least for a few days. maybe he can stay with bee and shanks on his boat. maybe he can sleep on the bank of the river with koby floating by. maybe he really should make this shitty fucking cook learn what it's like to live without β
no. zoro can't do that. despite all of the anger that's flooded through him, made his face hot despite the cool air outside, it's the way his chest tightens when he thinks about leaving that hurts the worst. he made a promise to him, to nami, that he would protect them here. the inexplicably heightened protectiveness over sanji since β since he started changing is just another thing that makes his pulse spike, heart thudding in his chest. what if something happened to him when zoro was away? how would nami ever forgive him? how would he ever forgive himself?
he doesn't say anything when he storms back into their cottage, even if his body language β gaze straight forward, pointedly not glancing towards the kitchen, body hunched over, tail thrashing from side to side as he books it towards their bedroom and wordlessly pulls the door closed probably a little too hard β probably says enough. zoro's jacket ends up shrugged off onto the floor somewhere, shoes kicked off lazily, propping his sword up against the wall beside the bed as he lays down with a long huff of a sigh, trying to relax into the mattress.
sleep will help. sleep will keep his thoughts from racing, ricocheting from anger to worry to unbridled longing and hurt and back again.
sleep doesn't come, though β just, eventually, a tired, worn out cook that shambles into their room and climbs into bed beside him. zoro doesn't react, doesn't move, happy to be facing away from sanji, keeping his eyes closed even if he can't see. it's quiet for long enough that he thinks that maybe he's safe, maybe sanji fell asleep. until β hey. )
Mm? ( it's barely anything β barely a question, really, with how flatly it hums from him. his ears betray him, though, twitching against the pillow, like they're waiting eagerly to drink up his response even when part of zoro absolutely dreads it. )
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he should find somewhere else to go, at least for a few days. maybe he can stay with bee and shanks on his boat. maybe he can sleep on the bank of the river with koby floating by. maybe he really should make this shitty fucking cook learn what it's like to live without β
no. zoro can't do that. despite all of the anger that's flooded through him, made his face hot despite the cool air outside, it's the way his chest tightens when he thinks about leaving that hurts the worst. he made a promise to him, to nami, that he would protect them here. the inexplicably heightened protectiveness over sanji since β since he started changing is just another thing that makes his pulse spike, heart thudding in his chest. what if something happened to him when zoro was away? how would nami ever forgive him? how would he ever forgive himself?
he doesn't say anything when he storms back into their cottage, even if his body language β gaze straight forward, pointedly not glancing towards the kitchen, body hunched over, tail thrashing from side to side as he books it towards their bedroom and wordlessly pulls the door closed probably a little too hard β probably says enough. zoro's jacket ends up shrugged off onto the floor somewhere, shoes kicked off lazily, propping his sword up against the wall beside the bed as he lays down with a long huff of a sigh, trying to relax into the mattress.
sleep will help. sleep will keep his thoughts from racing, ricocheting from anger to worry to unbridled longing and hurt and back again.
sleep doesn't come, though β just, eventually, a tired, worn out cook that shambles into their room and climbs into bed beside him. zoro doesn't react, doesn't move, happy to be facing away from sanji, keeping his eyes closed even if he can't see. it's quiet for long enough that he thinks that maybe he's safe, maybe sanji fell asleep. until β hey. )
Mm? ( it's barely anything β barely a question, really, with how flatly it hums from him. his ears betray him, though, twitching against the pillow, like they're waiting eagerly to drink up his response even when part of zoro absolutely dreads it. )