Chapter Text
Roronoa Zoro was nowhere near what Sanji had imagined when she was told she’d be sharing a room with a programming student.
Honestly—and as cliché as it sounded—she had imagined a shy girl. The typical nerdy type, maybe, with glasses so thick she could be considered legally blind without them. She’d also pictured someone obsessively organized, very clean, and on top of that, routine-driven—someone who’d get upset over even the smallest detail out of place or a sudden change in schedule.
She wouldn’t have minded. In fact, she needed someone like that in her life.
Lately, everything felt meaningless. She took any chance she could to go out partying and drink herself senseless. Flirting with girls she knew weren’t looking for anything serious and who would end up ignoring her afterward, making her feel foolish for thinking anyone would want something beyond just a good time with her. If she wasn’t doing any of those three things, she smoked an entire pack of cigarettes in a single day.
So maybe a good influence wouldn’t hurt.
Someone who would scold her if she dared to show up past three in the morning.
Someone who made her feel just ashamed enough of herself to want to improve a little...
Even if by force.
Sanji took a deep breath, trying to calm the mess her mind was already forming. Overthinking never led anywhere good; the best thing was just to act spontaneously.
When she finally managed to gather the courage to open the door and was met with a muscular, tanned woman with eyes so sharp they looked like they could slice you apart with a single blink, Sanji had to use all her willpower not to look too surprised.
The last thing she needed was to get off on the wrong foot with the person she’d be sharing four walls with for the rest of her college life.
Though now that she thought about it, maybe she had the wrong room.
“Vinsmoke?” the girl said, raising an eyebrow at the way Sanji froze in the doorway.
Okay, maybe not the wrong room.
This girl had short hair dyed the loudest green Sanji had ever seen in her life. Sweat ran down her neck as she lifted a dumbbell with one hand, trailing over the black fabric of her ripped-sleeve shirt with the logo of a band Sanji didn’t recognize printed in the middle.
Sanji liked to think she wasn’t the type of person who judged others by their appearance, much less someone who assumed what someone should look like based on their major.
But…
Where the hell was the friendly little nerd she’d been expecting?
“Uh… Yeah, that’s me. Call me Sanji, nice to meet you,” she said, with a polite smile and the most casual tone she could muster.
“Mm.” The girl simply nodded and continued with her routine.
Sanji raised an eyebrow at this. “People usually say their name when they introduce themselves,” she said jokingly, trying to keep a friendly tone.
“Eh? Is that so?” She didn’t sound particularly interested.
“Yeah…”
“Roronoa Zoro,” the girl finally said as she set the dumbbell down with a dull thud on the floor.
“…Alright, what should I call you?”
“Whatever you want, blondie,” she said before getting up and disappearing into the shower, the faint clinking of her earrings trailing behind as she walked.
With that first conversation, Sanji realized that living together was going to be harder than she thought.
-
-
-
Settling in was easier than Sanji had expected. After all, Zoro had already been living there for weeks—weeks Sanji hadn’t been able to attend due to… certain problems.
She thought the place would be completely dominated by her roommate’s presence. She imagined she’d find every corner occupied, that she wouldn’t even have the courage to unpack what she’d brought with her. Like the little porcelain figures her mother had left her and that she couldn’t bring herself to leave at her father’s house.
But to her surprise, Zoro barely seemed interested in her presence—much less in how she decorated her side of the room.
Her bed, pushed into the corner by the window, had only a wrinkled sheet, a thin blanket, and a pillow with no cover. She kept her clothes in a sports bag leaning against the wall, like using the closet was too much effort. Her desk was nearly empty, except for a reusable water bottle and a tangled pair of headphones. In the shared bathroom, there was only a toothbrush, a bar of soap, deodorant, and a bottle of all-in-one shampoo that Sanji could swear also doubled as mouthwash.
The only thing Zoro seemed to have paid any real attention to were the posters on her side of the room: pixelated covers of old video games Sanji vaguely recognized from her brothers, logos of bands with unreadable fonts, and a small photo taped to the corner of her desk. It showed her and a couple of friends holding up bottles at what looked like a graduation party.
Oh, and the pull-up bar installed right on the doorway like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Everything else was free space.
Sanji didn’t take long to claim her side of the room.
She strung up some warm lights around her desk—soft enough not to bother. She carefully unpacked her porcelain figures, wrapped in an old T-shirt, and placed them on a shelf she clumsily installed.
There were three, to be exact.
A small angel, with big eyes and blond hair her mother always compared to hers.
A swan.
And the last one—two people sitting side by side, one holding a bouquet in her lap while the other held her hand.
That one had a crack at the base, but Sanji couldn’t bear to leave it behind.
She also brought a diffuser she placed in a corner of the desk. Lavender. Not too strong, and not unpleasant either. She put a white floral comforter on her bed, with a small pink blanket folded neatly at the foot. Her suitcase, on the other hand, remained half-unpacked on the floor for two days. Clothes could wait.
Zoro didn’t say anything. The first two days were pure silence.
She didn’t comment when Sanji laid down a fluffy beige rug at the foot of her bed. Nor when she brought in a small plant in a smiling pot and left it by the window.
Sanji didn’t know if the silence meant approval or plain indifference.
She was too scared of making things awkward to say anything. What if she said the wrong thing, and now the rest of her university life—which she’d barely managed to get into—turned into a constant hell?
No. Absolutely not.
Sanji had learned the hard way that sometimes it was better to just stay quiet.
-
-
-
The first day of classes was just as boring as she expected.
She really wasn’t interested in making friends—at least not yet. First, she needed to adjust. To the schedule, to the campus, to the way professors seemed to speak an entirely different language, even though it was the same as always.
To the anxiety that settled in her chest every time she had to walk into a classroom full of strangers.
She got through the day with coffee, mint gum, and a few secret drags in the bathroom between classes.
One random morning, just as she was rushing out to her Intro to Gastronomy class, she realized she hadn’t watered her plant. She turned back down the hall, frustrated with herself as she dug around in the pocket of her jacket for the key.
I really need to get more organized, she thought.
Sometimes everything feels...
Then she opened the door—and her thoughts stopped.
Zoro was leaning in front of the small pot by the window, carefully pouring water from a plastic cup. Her T-shirt was wrinkled, her eyelids half-shut, and her hair still damp from the shower. She looked freshly rolled out of bed.
Sanji stood there a second too long, unsure if she should say something or not.
“Thanks,” she finally said, stepping inside.
Zoro jumped slightly, like she hadn’t heard her come in. She turned halfway, not quite meeting Sanji’s eyes, and nodded briefly.
“It’s nothing.”
“No, seriously. I completely forgot, and it’s the kind of plant they told me needs to stay really well hydrated. Thanks for taking care of it.”
Zoro seemed to hesitate for a second before replying. “I said it’s nothing,” she repeated. “The poor thing doesn’t deserve to die just because you forgot it.”
Sanji raised an eyebrow.
Was that… a joke?
“You’re right,” she answered with a sarcastic smile. “The poor plant doesn’t deserve it.”
Zoro shrugged and set the cup on the desk. That planted a brief silence in the room—but it didn’t last long.
“You really like them?” Zoro asked, nodding toward the plant. “Plants, I mean.”
Sanji blinked, surprised she kept talking. “A bit. They make me feel… I don’t know. I like the idea of taking care of something,” she said, and then, as if she regretted sounding too emotional, quickly added in a lighter tone, “Though I’m already failing.”
Zoro nodded, like she understood perfectly. She scratched the back of her neck, a little awkward.
“My classes are mostly in the afternoon. I can water it in the mornings. So you don’t have to rush when you leave.”
Sanji looked at her, slightly impressed.
“Really?”
“It’s no big deal,” Zoro said, looking away.
“Well, then… I’ll bring you a cookie from the cafeteria as thanks.”
“No.”
Sanji froze, confused.
“Huh?”
“I… uh… I don’t like sweets,” Zoro said, like she was confessing a crime.
“Oh. Then… I’ll bring you chips?”
Zoro finally met her eyes. Just for a second. A brief glance. But Sanji could swear her lips twitched, like she was holding back a smile.
“Fine.”
-
-
-
Sanji wasn’t exactly sure when she started noticing Zoro’s routines.
Maybe it was a week after the plant thing. Suddenly, she realized Zoro always had breakfast late, sometimes after training, usually with a dry piece of toast or whatever looked easiest to swallow. That sometimes she skipped lunch and fell asleep at her desk. That most of her meals were canned tuna, energy bars, or things Sanji would describe as a direct insult to good taste.
Few things annoyed her more than bad eating habits.
So that afternoon, while cooking for herself—a simple pasta with tomato sauce, basil, and a bit of grated cheese—she made an extra portion.
She was nervous. She didn’t really know what to expect, but the food was done and she wasn’t the kind of person to waste it.
What was the worst that could happen?
Zoro could reject the food and call her a nosy idiot?
That didn’t sound too far-fetched.
Great. Now she was sweating.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just served the plates, set one on Zoro’s desk and the other on her own bed, where she usually ate. Then she sat down and started eating like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Zoro looked at the plate. Then at her.
She didn’t ask, but she also didn’t touch the food right away.
She just stood there, still, like she didn’t know what to do.
“It’s not poisoned,” Sanji said, without looking up.
Zoro snorted. “I didn’t say that.”
Oh, so she could laugh?
“I know you thought it.”
“Can you read minds now?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. So what am I thinking right now?”
“You’re thinking about how good my pasta looks and how badly you want to try it.”
Zoro didn’t answer. She rolled her eyes, but Sanji caught a tiny spark of amusement in them. Just for a moment.
Then she started eating.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was dense, sure, but calm.
Zoro ate with focus, and Sanji tried not to stare too obviously.
Not that she succeeded.
“So?” she finally asked, elbow on the table, wearing a little smirk.
Zoro chewed slowly. Swallowed. Looked up. “Not bad.”
Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Not bad? Seriously?”
“Are you complaining because I didn’t praise you enough?”
“A kneeling ovation would be nice,” he said with a mocking smile, stretching his legs out on the bed.
Zoro shook her head, amused. “Do you usually ask girls you just met to get on their knees?”
Sanji choked on air. She tried to fire back with another joke, not wanting to be fazed by a stupid comment. But her throat clamped shut. She turned her gaze to her empty plate, rubbing the back of her neck like something had suddenly started itching.
“You’re disgusting,” she muttered.
Zoro let out a low, lazy laugh. “It was good, cook.” And after a pause, she added, “Thanks.”
Sanji shrugged, pretending not to care, even though a tiny spark of satisfaction warmed her chest.
“You’re welcome,” she mumbled, and kept eating—smiling with every bite like she hadn’t just tasted her first real friendly conversation.
-
-
-
The first month had passed, and although it hadn’t been planned, Sanji had started taking care of Zoro’s dinners. At least when she could. They were always well received — even if Zoro rarely said it out loud — and they doubled as practice for her culinary classes. So, why not?
Zoro often finished her meal before Sanji did, took both plates, washed them, and cleaned the kitchen, even though Sanji had never asked. She figured it was Zoro’s way of keeping things balanced or something like that.
It wasn’t a surprise to realize Zoro was that kind of person. Quiet, reserved, someone who communicated better through actions. Understanding what she was thinking could be hard. That made Sanji nervous.
Not being able to read someone easily.
Sanji was usually good at that. She adapted naturally, even to more withdrawn people. She always managed to mold herself to what she thought others expected. It was the safest way to be liked.
But with Zoro, she had no idea.
She didn’t know if Zoro expected friendship or just peaceful coexistence. If she enjoyed their small talks or would rather be left alone. Sometimes, Sanji even doubted whether Zoro truly liked her cooking — something she had never questioned before.
She’d always been confident in her skills. She knew she was a good cook, she knew she had talent. Her mother, her sister, and Zeff always told her so.
…
One afternoon, they were sitting at opposite ends of the room. Sanji lay on her bed, flipping through her recipe notebook with her legs crossed and a pencil between her teeth. Zoro, on the other hand, was lightly rocking in her chair, holding a water bottle and still in her workout clothes, her shirt sticking to her body.
She had a slight frown. Sanji figured it could be bad mood, maybe something about classes or personal stuff. Either way, they weren’t close enough yet for her to ask just out of curiosity.
“You got anything for headaches?”
Sanji jumped at the sudden question. She cursed herself for not having bought a painkiller — even if headaches weren’t something she often dealt with.
“I can go grab some. What are your symptoms?”
Zoro shook her head. “Dunno, it just hurts.”
“Since when?”
“Since I finished my arm set.”
“…Did you eat before starting?”
“No? Why?”
“You have to eat well if you’re going to work out for hours.”
“I know, I’m not an idiot.”
“Then?”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Sanji said with a half-smile, not even looking up. “What are you, a little kid that needs supervision?”
Zoro looked at her with a slight frown. “Ugh. You sound like my sister,” she said with a shrug. “So annoying.”
Sanji tilted her head a bit, curious.
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause. Sanji sat up straighter, setting the notebook aside.
“What’s she like?”
Zoro rested her elbows on her knees, fiddling with the bottle cap. “Her name’s Perona. She studies graphic design.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an old wallet, taking out a photo of her and her sister at what looked like a birthday party.
“She’s into dark stuff and loud colors. Like… sparkly goth.”
Sanji chuckled quietly while looking at the photo. The girl with pink hair wore knee-high black boots, dramatic makeup, glitter under her eyes, and purple eyeshadow matching her long fake nails. She had on a short dress with bat prints and a spiked choker. She looked completely out of place at a family party — but oddly right.
Zoro, in contrast, looked like she’d just rolled out of bed. Her hair was messy, she wore a plain black t-shirt, mismatched shoelaces, and a pair of athletic shorts that barely reached her thighs. Her arms were crossed and her expression slightly awkward, like she wasn’t sure how to deal with the camera. Still, there was a small, sheepish smile on her face.
While Perona screamed “Look at me,” Zoro looked one second away from running.
Yet it still looked like a fond memory.
“Wow. You two don’t really look alike.”
“Of course not. We’re adopted. No shared blood.”
The silence that followed wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavier. Sanji didn’t think it was a bad thing. Not dramatic, not tragic — just… she didn’t know how to respond to Zoro’s flat tone.
She blinked slowly and looked away for a second, uncertain. “I… well, that explains it,” she finally said, not knowing if it was the right thing.
Zoro squinted slightly, catching the tentative tone. She straightened a bit and spoke bluntly. “Hey, don’t think I feel bad about it or anything.”
“Sorry for assuming.” Sanji murmured, scratching her wrist without realizing — a nervous tic.
Zoro let out a dramatic sigh and set the bottle down. “Huh… Maybe I’ll forgive you if you give me more of those onigiri you made yesterday.”
Sanji scoffed, tossing a pillow from the bed. Zoro caught it effortlessly.
“Hungry idiot.”
“Can you blame me? They were really good.” she added softly, completely casual.
Sanji felt a warm twinge in her chest. “I’ll see if there’s any left,” she said, pretending to sound annoyed.
-
-
-
"Due to a scheduling conflict, I won’t be attending today’s class. I’ll share the materials later and we’ll reschedule."
That was it. Not even an apology.
All Sanji got from that message was that her professor cared so little about his students’ time he couldn’t even bother to warn them earlier. He sent it five minutes before class was supposed to start.
The stress from the past three weeks was starting to wear her down. Her back ached, her jaw was tight, and the pressure in her temples was like a constant drumbeat. She needed a cigarette. Badly.
Sure, she’d been smoking less lately. Not really by choice — she just wasn’t sure if Zoro could stand the smell of smoke in the room. And things between them… well, they were starting to take shape. She wouldn’t say they were friends. Not yet. But they could talk without it feeling weird. That was a lot.
Plus, Zoro had made her smile. Three times now.
Yeah, she’d counted. No idea why.
The point was, she needed something. An outlet. If not cigarettes, then at least a friendly face. She wanted to talk to Nami — her unofficial emotional advisor, wise, impatient, and brutally honest. Or ask Robin what a reasonable person would do in her situation. Even listening to Usopp’s nonsense sounded good. At least he’d make her laugh, and right now, that felt like a luxury.
Lacking nicotine or therapy, venting about her stupid professor would have to be the next best thing. Even if it was childish. She didn’t care.
Before she realized it, she was already at her door.
She sighed deeply, trying to calm down before going in. Maybe cooking would help. Sushi, perhaps. She could offer some to Zoro too — she seemed to really like Japanese food.
She sighed again. Opened the door.
A loud thud against the wall startled her.
She blinked. Then her gaze landed on the bed.
Her porcelain figures were there, carefully wrapped in one of her shirts, aligned neatly in the center like someone had taken the time to place them thoughtfully.
She looked up, confused.
There was Zoro.
Standing by the wall, awkwardly adjusting the shelf Sanji had installed days ago. She held a screwdriver between her teeth, sleeves rolled up, fingers dusty and forehead glistening with sweat.
“Oh,” Zoro mumbled, the screwdriver still in her mouth. “You’re back early.”
“…Class was canceled,” Sanji replied, still watching.
“I see.”
“And you… what are you…?”
“It was crooked,” Zoro shrugged. “Didn’t wanna clean up broken porcelain if it fell.”
“I see.”
Sanji stood still for a moment, feeling something loosen inside her chest.
Then she smiled. A small, inevitable smile she tried to hide by looking away.
Zoro finished tightening the screw, stepped back to inspect the shelf, and nodded, satisfied. Without saying another word, she started picking up the tools, not expecting any acknowledgment.
Sanji didn’t say anything at first.
She just walked to the bed, picked up one of the figures — the blonde angel — and held it for a moment in her hands.
“Thanks,” she said, not looking directly at her.
Zoro grimaced. “It’s nothing,” she replied flatly.
To Sanji, it wasn’t nothing.
She stayed silent for a moment, thinking while she placed the figures back where they belonged.
Had Zoro waited for her to leave to fix the shelf without her noticing?
Without even asking for money?
Was she just going to do it and never mention it?
Zoro had no way of knowing how much those figures meant to her. She had no clue.
So… why?
“And… why did you get here so early?”
Sanji blinked.
Was Zoro… starting a conversation?
“Class was canceled,” she repeated, trying to sound casual. “Five minutes before. Very professional.”
Zoro clicked her tongue and dropped onto her bed, like the comment amused her in a very, very subtle way. “What an asshole,” she said.
“Right?!” Sanji practically burst out. “Not even a sorry! Just a dry, dumb message like we’ve all got nothing better to do.”
Zoro nodded without much energy, but there was something like silent solidarity in her expression. Sanji sat down too, crossing her legs on the bed and letting out a long sigh.
“I haven’t slept well in three weeks. I’m behind on reading, I totally messed up a cooking practical yesterday because I forgot the plating protocol, and now this guy doesn’t even show up. I’m two seconds away from tearing out my nails.”
“At least you didn’t burn the kitchen down,” Zoro said, not moving.
Sanji snorted. “Thanks for your faith in me. Very comforting.”
There was a pause, but this time it was lighter. Sanji felt the pressure in her chest ease, just a bit. Sometimes, talking really was enough. Sometimes, just having someone listen was all she needed.
Zoro stretched like a lazy cat, one arm falling off the bed. “Wanna order food?”
Sanji looked at her sideways. “I can cook.”
“Don’t be an idiot. With the mood you’re in, you’d probably destroy a plate.”
Sanji opened her mouth in mock outrage. “Who’re you calling an idiot, idiot!?”
“Take a wild guess.”
Sanji threw a pillow. Zoro caught it without even lifting her head.
“I’ll pay for the pizza,” Zoro said. “Half with pineapple, and the other half… whatever it is you eat.”
“First of all,” Sanji said, raising a finger, “Pineapple on pizza should be illegal.”
“Do you want it or not?”
Sanji sighed in dramatic defeat. “Fine. But only if my half has mushrooms.”
Zoro grimaced but nodded. “Alright. Though that’s disgusting.”
“Your choice is disgusting,” Sanji muttered, leaning against the wall, a little more at ease.
While Zoro ordered from her phone, Sanji closed her eyes for a moment. She felt tired, yes — but somehow, the stress didn’t weigh quite as much anymore.
-
-
-
Zoro was lying on her bed, one leg bent, the other hanging off the edge, a handheld console in her hands. The faint glow from the screen barely lit up her face—tired eyes, but no sign of sleep. She almost looked like a psychopath with that blank stare. She played in silence. The only sounds were the repetitive clicks of buttons and the ceiling fan spinning overhead.
Sanji was sitting at her desk, supposedly focused on reviewing some notes. But she hadn’t made it past the first line in ten minutes.
Every now and then, she’d glance up. Not directly, of course. Just from the corner of her eye. Discreetly.
Zoro had a slight frown on her forehead, her jaw tense. Her fingers moved quickly across the console, pressing buttons in a pattern that seemed deliberate. Sanji had no idea what the game was about, other than there were small pixelated characters in what looked like a cave. In the corner, a number ticked down every time Zoro failed at… whatever she was trying to do.
Truth was, Sanji didn’t have much experience with video games. It wasn’t that she hated them or found them boring—she’d just never had a good chance to enjoy them. She’d always end up frustrated because of her brothers, or they’d just straight-up refuse to let her play.
“You having fun watching me lose?”
Sanji blinked.
“What?”
“You’ve been staring for a while.”
“I was just spacing out. It’s my right as a bored citizen.”
Zoro huffed lightly. “It’s a bad game,” she finally said, eyes still glued to the screen. “The puzzles are stupid. But I’ve made it this far, so I’m not quitting now.”
Sanji tilted her head.
“Wouldn’t it be more productive to play something else?”
“Who the hell cares about productivity?”
“Duly noted.”
A moment passed. Sanji looked down again, but she still wasn’t reading. A few seconds later, the sound of button presses stopped.
“Wanna try?”
It caught her off guard.
“Me?”
“You.”
“I have no idea how it works.”
Zoro shrugged. “No one does at the start.”
Sanji hesitated. Then she stood, walked over to the bed, and sat carefully on the edge. Not especially close, but close enough for the console to sit between them. Zoro shifted a little, leaning back against the wall to give her more space. Their knees ended up nearly touching.
Sanji took the console in her hands.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“You have to move the rocks to cover the gaps and open the path.”
“That’s it?”
“That, and make sure the character doesn’t run out of energy. There are traps too. And enemies. And a timer that goes down if you take too long.”
Sanji raised an eyebrow.
“Sounds simple enough.”
“Go ahead, genius.”
She tried a few moves. Within seconds, the screen flashed red and the game reset.
“Oh.”
Zoro let out a small snort. “Not that easy, huh?”
Sanji arched a brow, still holding the console. “I’m just getting started.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.”
They played in silence for a while. Or rather, Sanji played while Zoro gave vague instructions like “not that way” or “that’s a trap.”
By the sixth failed attempt, Sanji let out a dramatic sigh and handed the console back.
“I hereby declare myself officially incompetent.”
Zoro took it with a half-smile. “You’re not that bad.”
“You just watched me die to the same trap four times.”
“Want me to put it on easy mode for you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, since you seem incapable of doing it the normal way.” Zoro snickered, eyes gleaming with a teasing glint that was as annoying as it was strangely compelling. “Don’t be embarrassed, my little cousin uses that mode.”
“Fuck off,” Sanji said, rolling her eyes. “If you think a childish provocation like that is going to—”
Time slipped by without either of them really noticing.
They kept taking turns. One played until losing. The other tried to beat it. On the desk, the recipe notebook stayed open to the same page.
They cursed at the game with overly dramatic insults full of frustration, laughed when one of them made the same mistake as the other, and argued strategies like it was a matter of national importance.
When the natural light disappeared completely, Sanji got up to turn on the corner lamp. Not very bright, but enough to keep the console from straining their eyes. When she sat back down on the bed, Zoro didn’t even move—she simply shifted a leg to make room, like it was already normal to have her there.
Sanji got comfortable again, this time sitting cross-legged, elbows resting on her knees. Zoro was playing now, eyes locked on the screen, still frowning—but not as much. More focused than tense.
“See that?” Sanji said, pointing at the screen. “That rock. You always skip it.”
Zoro grunted, but pushed it. “Just this once, I’ll listen to you.”
“See? You can take direction.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Later, both of them yawned, their bones sore, especially their necks. Zoro leaned her head on Sanji’s shoulder. The gesture was so casual, so quiet, that for a moment Sanji thought she’d imagined it. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t move to shake her off. Her shoulder was bony, and Zoro’s hair was still a little damp from her earlier shower. But she didn’t mind.
The game continued. They were further than ever now. The countdown in the corner blinked with urgency, but the rocks were in place. The path was open. Just one more jump.
“If you fall now, I’m going to scream,” Sanji whispered.
“Shut up. I’m in the zone.”
Sanji held her breath.
Zoro pressed the button.
On the screen, the character crossed the threshold, and a pixelated animation appeared: a flashing light, a “You Did It!” message in retro font.
Zoro let out a quiet “yes!”
Sanji, without thinking, burst out in a short laugh.
“I can’t believe we wasted three hours on this.”
“I wasted four technically,” Zoro corrected, stretching lazily. “But worth it.”
“If you say so.” Sanji sighed, still smiling to herself as she stood up and stretched too.
Zoro turned off the console and lay back on the bed for a moment, not getting up, just looking at her.
“…What?” Sanji asked, not turning all the way around.
“What?”
“You’re looking at me funny.”
Zoro looked away, clicking her tongue. “I’m not.”
“You are.” Sanji insisted, a smile starting to form.
“You’ve gone nuts from losing so much.”
“It wasn’t even that many times.”
“You’re pretty bad for someone who’s not a grandma. Didn’t you ever have a Game Boy?”
“It’s… well, my brothers were the ones who used them.”
Zoro turned her head slightly, glancing at her. “And they didn’t share?”
Sanji let out a dry, humorless laugh and walked back to her bed, where the notebook was still open on the same page it had been for hours.
“Not really. Let’s just say they weren’t very interested in including me in anything. Unless it was to laugh at me.”
Zoro sat up a little, resting her forearms on her knees.
“They made fun of you?”
“All the time.” Sanji shrugged, feigning indifference, though her voice dropped just slightly. “If I asked to play, they’d say I’d ruin it. If I failed, they laughed. If I won… well, that never happened.”
Zoro didn’t say anything, but her expression shifted just a little.
Sanji turned around, leaning back against the desk with her arms crossed. She looked at Zoro. “It wasn’t a big deal, really,” she said with a half-hearted smile. “Just kids being jerks.”
“Jerky kids grow up to be even jerkier adults.”
Sanji chuckled a little. “Guess so.”
Zoro shrugged. “We can play again sometime,” she finally said. “Another day.”
Sanji watched her for a moment. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I’d like that.”
Zoro gave her a short nod and lay back down. Sanji did the same on her own bed.
-
-
-
Zoro was taking off her headphones and untangling her charger cable when Sanji approached her with so much energy she was practically glowing.
“What are you doing tonight?”
Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Is this a trick question? Are you about to make me do something?”
“Don’t be dramatic. I got invited to a party.”
Zoro went back to focusing on the knot in her cable. “Good for you.”
“You’re coming with me.”
Zoro slowly looked up. “Since when did we start making decisions together?”
Sanji leaned against the doorframe like she owned it. She was smiling, but not in a smug way—just full of confidence Zoro couldn’t quite understand.
“Since Nami and Robin told me I could bring someone. I like you, so I’m bringing you. Makes sense.”
Zoro frowned, though the comment felt unexpectedly nice.
“I’m not really into parties.”
“It’s just people and music. No one’s going to force you to dance or talk if you don’t want to.”
“That’s not it,” she muttered, but didn’t explain. And Sanji didn’t push.
Zoro hesitated. She fully intended to say no. She felt it at the back of her throat. The excuse was already half-formed. But Sanji was there, wearing that relaxed expression Zoro was starting to get used to. With that calm atmosphere that wrapped around her so easily.
Damn it. She could barely keep a friendship going for more than a week.
Barely even managed to start one in the first place.
What if saying no meant losing that?
She hated noise. Crowds. That feeling of not belonging.
But Sanji didn’t make her feel like that.
And somehow, that was exactly what convinced her.
“…Fine,” she said at last, finally defeating the tangle in her cable. “I’ll go.”
…
Sanji couldn’t help smiling as she rummaged through her drawer for a decent blouse. The fact that Zoro had agreed to come along had her in a great mood. She ran her fingers through her hair, put on a bit of lipstick—nothing bold, just a soft shade to add some color—and swapped her T-shirt for a white long-sleeved blouse. She wasn’t the type to get overly dressed up, but she did enjoy looking nice.
Zoro, meanwhile, walked up to the sink, splashed some water on her face, and dried her neck with a towel. She changed out of her sweaty shirt into a clean one, pulled on a pair of dark jeans without giving it much thought, and sat on the bed to wait.
“That’s it?”
Zoro shrugged. “Is there supposed to be more?”
Sanji rolled her eyes with a smile. “No. Let’s go.”
…
The apartment was crowded, but not unbearably so. People on the balcony, sitting on the floor, leaning on the furniture. Warm lights and music that wasn’t as loud as Zoro had feared. She held a glass of something sweet and fizzy, her fingertips chilled by the ice, and stuck close to Sanji like her presence alone might shield her from the rest of the world.
“Sanji!” A cheerful female voice called out, waving with a smile. A pretty redhead with big eyes. Must’ve been Nami.
Sanji greeted her just as warmly, crossing the room with ease to hug her. Then she did the same with the tall girl with dark hair standing beside her—Robin, Zoro guessed—with a natural familiarity she seemed to reserve for just a few people.
Sanji was the kind of person who, when talking about her day, would mention places and names you’d never heard before, but did so as if they were mutual acquaintances. As if the world she moved through was hers, and everyone else just needed to catch up.
“I’m getting us a drink, wait here,” Sanji said, giving Zoro a light tap on the arm before vanishing into the crowd.
Zoro didn’t get a chance to respond.
Nami immediately stepped closer, grinning, and Robin followed with her usual calm. The redhead gave Zoro an unashamed once-over, her glass clinking gently with the ice.
“So you’re Zoro,” she said, arms crossed, amused. “Sanji talks about you.”
Zoro felt her shoulders tense automatically, though she tried to keep her expression neutral.
“Yeah?”
Robin gave her a small, knowing smile, the kind that always seemed to imply more than it said. “Nice to finally put a face to the name,” she added. “You’re more… real.”
Zoro frowned slightly, not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment.
“Don’t mind her,” Nami cut in, nudging Robin with a friendly elbow. “She says weird stuff sometimes. But yeah—welcome. I’m glad you came.”
Zoro looked down for a second, clearly uncomfortable with the direct attention.
“Me too,” she admitted, voice lower than usual. She gripped the glass with both hands, as if it gave her some control.
Sanji reappeared just then, all casual charm, holding two fresh drinks.
“What are you plotting?” she asked in a low voice, handing one to Nami.
“We were getting to know your mysterious roommate,” Robin replied calmly, sipping from her glass. Then she looked at Zoro again, this time with a softer expression. “I’m glad Sanji finally made a friend.”
Friend.
Yeah, that’s what they were… right?
They didn’t just share a room anymore. They talked. Chatted even when they didn’t have to. Were now going to parties together.
A wave of unexpected calm settled over Zoro before she nodded. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta be there in case she poisons someone.”
Sanji frowned, instantly offended. “Excuse me? Who cooks for you every day to keep you alive? Because if I didn’t, you’d be living off protein bars.”
“Shut up. I don’t forget to eat.”
“You do. You’re like a little kid. You’re the one who needs supervision.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. If I don’t remind you to eat, you’ll just train or code yourself into a coma or whatever it is you do in robot mode.”
“That’s discipline!”
“That’s having zero survival instincts!”
Nami snorted with laughter, and Robin raised an intrigued eyebrow.
“She’s not as quiet as I thought,” Robin murmured.
“Well, maybe she only opens up around people she trusts,” Nami answered in a low voice, a teasing smile curling on her lips—one that made Robin chuckle quietly.
…
The night went on.
Everything seemed more or less normal. People coming and going from the kitchen, conversations drifting between the music. Zoro stayed close to the walls, only moving when Sanji did.
The deeper they went in, the more people suddenly approached.
It was like everyone knew her. Wherever they stopped, some group would wave, hug her tightly—especially the girls. Zoro tried to ignore the way some of them stared when Sanji turned down their invitation to dance and promised "maybe next time."
"Zoro!"
Zoro blinked.
“Luffy?!”
A guy with a huge grin was heading her way, waving his arms like he’d just seen a celebrity. His black hair was messy, his striped shirt slightly crooked, and his energy was so high it felt like he glowed.
“I knew it was you!” Luffy pulled her into a hug that practically lifted her off the floor. Zoro froze at first, surprised by the sudden contact, then let out a resigned sigh and gave him a few pats on the back.
“We saw each other like a month ago, you drama queen.”
"It felt way longer!" Luffy replied, still not letting go.
Sanji was watching the scene with wide eyes.
"You know Luffy?!"
“Of course,” said Luffy. “Since high school! But she never wanted to hang out. If I wanted to see her, I had to show up at her house. Zoro’s not a fan of crowds, you know?”
Zoro tried to wiggle out of his grip, her jaw clenched. “Luffy…”
“So I’m happy you two are friends! That’s new!”
Sanji looked at her then, with a small smile Zoro couldn’t quite tell was teasing.
She wished the earth would open up just a bit—enough to crawl into for a few minutes.
"I’ve noticed," Sanji murmured, still watching her. "And why didn’t you ever tell us about her?"
“I did! Remember when I canceled plans because I had to go watch a friend compete? That was her!”
Sanji tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. “Compete?”
Zoro didn’t answer, looking away.
"Yeah! She does fencing! She’s really good, always winning medals or whatever they give out."
Sanji’s eyes widened. "You fence?"
Zoro pressed her lips into a line, clearly uncomfortable. "It’s not a big deal."
"Not a big deal? She’s literally a sword-wielding athlete!" Luffy looked genuinely offended that it wasn’t common knowledge. “It’s the coolest thing you’ll ever see, Sanji!”
Sanji looked at her again, this time with a different expression. Something like admiration—or maybe just genuine surprise. Like Zoro had just evolved into a more layered version of herself.
"Why didn’t you ever mention it?"
Zoro shrugged. "Never came up."
"I literally asked you why you train so much like two days ago."
"Yeah, well..."
Luffy laughed. "That’s just Zoro! If you don’t dig, she won’t say a word. Half the time I have to drag her out of the house with promises of alcohol.”
Sanji raised a curious brow. "You’re that into drinking?"
"She’s a total addict," Luffy answered without missing a beat.
Zoro grimaced. "You’re exaggerating. And anyway, I haven’t had a drink all semester."
Luffy stared at her like it was some kind of holy revelation.
"WHAT?"
"Yeah. I quit. For now." Zoro glanced down at her drink, her expression somewhere between proud and resigned. "It was distracting me."
"Really? Me too." Sanji said, surprised—like she’d just discovered something important they shared.
"Well, isn’t the semester almost over? Why not have a drink?" Luffy cut in with a laugh, raising his cup.
Zoro and Sanji exchanged a glance.
To hell with it.
…
They ended up sneaking out to the balcony a little later, away from the others. Each with a drink in hand, cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol.
The night air was cool, a breeze offering relief from the heat inside. The city lights flickered in the distance—calm and far away. They weren’t talking about anything particularly deep, but the conversation flowed as if it were. One of the longest ones they’d had, for sure.
Sanji laughed easily, more than usual. Her eyes sparkled and she leaned forward often, sometimes ducking her head to hide her smile behind her loose bangs. Her words were loose, her laugh honest.
Zoro didn’t say much, but she was fully present. She replied with focused gazes and the kind of smirks that let Sanji know she was listening.
"Is it true?" Sanji asked at some point, chin resting on the balcony edge as she looked toward the street. "Do you really hate going out?"
Zoro shrugged. "I don’t hate it. It’s just… not my thing."
"Why?"
Zoro hesitated. Her fingers rolled the glass slowly. "I don’t like feeling like I have to do stuff. Be fun. Talk. Fit in. All of that."
Sanji nodded, taking another sip. Her voice was slower now, like the alcohol was making her measure every word.
"Makes sense."
Zoro glanced at her. "And you? I thought you were more of a stay-at-home type."
"I am," Sanji laughed. Her voice was soft, like she’d just confessed something vulnerable. "But sometimes I need noise. So I stop thinking."
Zoro nodded slowly and looked down at her half-empty glass.
Sanji slipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She held it between her fingers for a second, like she wasn’t sure why she’d even done it, then put it back without a word.
Zoro watched silently.
"I don’t mind."
Sanji looked over, silent.
"The cigarette. I don’t care if you smoke around me."
With steadier hands than she felt, Sanji pulled the pack back out. This time, no hesitation. She placed a cigarette between her lips and lit it with a quiet flick of her lighter. The first drag was slow, almost ceremonial, like reconnecting with something familiar.
The smoke drifted between them, lazy and slow in the night air.
Zoro didn’t look away.
Sanji noticed.
She held out the pack, offering it without a word.
Zoro glanced down at the cigarette, then back at her. Then shook her head.
-
-
-
Zoro couldn’t remember the exact moment she started feeling dizzy. Maybe it was the fifth drink. Or the tenth. But she sure wasn’t the one laughing so loud it echoed through the entire building.
“I told you to hold onto the damn railing, idiot!” Sanji screeched, clinging to Zoro’s arm just as the latter tripped on the last step.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Zoro mumbled, though laughter vibrated in her chest and she couldn’t keep her balance without slightly leaning toward Sanji.
“You don’t look perfectly anything,” Sanji replied, with that mix of dramatic scolding and drunken affection that only alcohol could unlock.
They looked like a complete mess.
It took them forever to reach the apartment. Sanji struggled with the keys more than Zoro thought physically possible, and when she finally got it open, they both tumbled in at the same time, bumping shoulders and choking on their own laughter.
“Shhh,” Zoro muttered while closing the door behind them. “You’re gonna wake… Never mind.”
The apartment’s silence wrapped around them like a warm, messy blanket. For a second, they just stood there, barely a few steps apart, looking at each other with flushed cheeks and lazy smiles.
Sanji’s eyes were bright, her hair messy,
And beautiful.
Zoro’s mind went blank.
Sanji suddenly frowned, as if trying to remember something very important. Then she blinked, slowly.
“Did you have fun?” she asked, voice softer now.
Zoro nodded.
Sanji looked at her for another second. Then she smiled. “It was better with you,” she mumbled, turning toward her bed and collapsing on it immediately.
Zoro watched her fall asleep.
Part of her —the part still somewhat sober— felt something tighten just beneath her ribs. The other part simply let herself fall onto her own bed, staring up at the ceiling now.
“Shit.”
-
-
-
The light was cruel. Excessively bright.
Sanji woke up with a dry mouth, sticky eyes, and the certainty that the morning was going to be hell. She rolled over with a groan and pulled the pillow over her head.
From the kitchen, someone was making noise.
A lot of noise.
She got up slowly, tripping over her own shoes from the night before. “Are you… cooking?” she murmured, peeking around the doorway like a nocturnal creature caught in daylight.
Zoro looked up. She had a pan in hand and a look of intense focus. “Sort of.”
Sanji shuffled closer, still in a t-shirt with her hair thrown up in a loose bun. She sat at the bar like every movement cost her double the effort. “Are those… eggs?”
Zoro nodded. In the pan was something that vaguely resembled scrambled eggs.
Sanji squinted. “...Are those really eggs?”
Zoro stared at her, unblinking. “This is the last time I’m doing this.”
Sanji smiled, too tired to stop herself. “I can’t believe I’m being fed by a dumbass Marimo.”
Zoro served the eggs with exaggerated slowness, not breaking eye contact. “Shut up, curly.”
Sanji blinked.
Zoro pushed the plate toward her with a soft nudge. Sanji let out a hoarse laugh. “Curly? Seriously?”
“For your eyebrows.”
“Right, thanks, hadn’t noticed,” she said with a crooked smile, poking at the eggs with her fork. She tried a bite. Chewed. Blinked. “...Not bad.”
Zoro raised an eyebrow.
They ate in silence for a few moments, sharing that strange comfort left behind by a night of shared drinks. Words were few, but unnecessary. Zoro drank straight from the water bottle. Sanji stole from it like it was already a habit.
After a while, Sanji spoke without looking. “You realize the semester’s almost over and we still don’t have each other’s numbers?”
Zoro looked at her with a neutral expression, as if it wasn’t a big deal. She shrugged. “You’re right.”
She pulled out her phone and handed it over.
Sanji took it, surprised at how easy it had been. She typed her number in carefully, like doing so marked a turning point. When she handed it back, she smiled.
“Now I can annoy you over text.”
Zoro poured herself more water. “I’m gonna mute you.”
“You say that now. But you’ll cave.”
-
-
-
They were both packing.
The room was a mess. Open suitcases, half-folded clothes, the carefully tended plant already boxed. And in the middle of it all, a strange kind of silence. Not awkward, but not relaxed either.
Zoro finished first. She zipped up her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and stood there, staring at Sanji’s back as she kept looking for—whatever—among her stuff. Then, in a clumsy move that was so very her, she turned around and held out a hand.
She was sweating, for some reason she couldn’t understand.
Sanji looked up. She saw her—and let out a soft laugh. “Seriously? You’re saying goodbye with a handshake?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Zoro hesitated. “What else am I supposed to...?”
Sanji huffed and pulled her in with a quick tug. She hugged her tightly, leaving no time for protest. Zoro froze for a second, then her arms came around her. She didn’t say anything. Just stood there.
“Have a good break, stupid Marimo,” Sanji muttered into her shoulder.
“…You too, Curly,” Zoro murmured back.
They pulled apart. Sanji gave her a calm smile and teased her about how little she’d packed, or something like that. Zoro nodded quickly, not really processing what she was saying, and left without another word.
…
It was horribly hot on the bus. The seat next to Zoro was empty, luckily. She slumped down, exhausted, and as the engine started, she looked out the window.
The traffic was terrible, as expected for this time of year.
Zoro sighed. It was going to be a long ride.
She pressed her forehead to the glass—cool inside, warm outside—and closed her eyes, frowning without realizing it. Her fingers itched, clenching the phone too tightly.
“Don’t be stupid,” she muttered under her breath.
…
A few days passed.
Sanji thought she’d be the first to text. She really did.
She even opened the chat one night, typed something—a silly message asking if she’d arrived okay, how her sister was, if she’d done anything fun over the past days.
But in the end, she deleted it.
She didn’t send anything.
Zoro did.
Just a photo.
An orange cat, sprawled out on a bed, legs wide open, belly up like it had always owned the place.
Zoro: “My family got a replacement while I was gone.”
Sanji: “lol Why does it sleep like it pays rent?”
Zoro: “She thinks she owns everything.”
Sanji: “I like her.”
Zoro: “I should kick her out.”
Sanji smiled, staring at the screen.
…
The conversations became routine.
Always late at night.
First just photos—food, books, weird stuff in the street—then longer messages, then sleepy voice notes.
There was something about the night that made them loosen up.
Even when most of their chats consisted of insulting each other over dumb stuff. Like when Zoro got frustrated with Sanji’s horrible performance in the online games they played.
“Are you stupid?” Zoro murmured one night, buried under the covers with her phone screen at full brightness, aiming at enemies Sanji kept missing.
“I’m new to this, idiot,” Sanji slurred, half-asleep.
They kept playing in silence, broken only by Sanji’s soft cursing or the occasional laugh when she managed a decent shot.
Until, mid-round, Zoro huffed on the other end of the call.
“This demon cat keeps rubbing her face on mine.”
“You love her.”
“She gets fur all over my shirts.”
“Maybe it’s a sign to wear something other than black.”
“Idiot.”
After the game ended, Zoro sent another cat picture.
Sanji could swear Zoro’s gallery was ninety percent that fat cat. Hers too, at this point.
“My dad never let me have a pet.”
Zoro didn’t respond right away.
Sanji closed her eyes. “...My mom said yes, but the idiot always refused. Said animals made a mess.”
Zoro sighed on the other end. “My sister brought one home when she was little. A huge dog. My dad didn’t say anything. But when it died, he never wanted another. I remember... I saw him cry that day, for the first time.”
Silence stretched.
“I’m glad you have that cat,” Sanji said.
“She’s my sister’s,” Zoro replied.
“She chose you. Now she’s yours.”
“What kind of stupid, cheesy line is that?”
…
Dinner was on the table, but Zoro hadn’t touched it yet.
Sanji: “Why do you hoard potions and never use them even when you’ve got, like, two HP?”
Zoro: “Using potions is for losers. I know what I’m doing.”
Sanji: “Right, that’s why you died three times on the same level lol.”
Zoro: “That was lag.”
Sanji: “You’ve got lag in your brain.”
Zoro: “Shut up, Curly.”
Sanji: “Stop calling me that. At least come up with a new nickname.”
Zoro: “Curly. Curly. Curly.”
Sanji: “I swear if I could punch you through this chat, I would.”
Zoro was already laughing to herself when she felt a weight press against her shoulder. Perona had leaned in from behind the chair and dropped onto her like a nosy cat.
“Who are you always texting lately?” she asked, craning her neck to peek at the screen. “Is it Luffy?”
Zoro frowned, turning down the screen brightness and guarding her phone against her chest.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Oh my god,” Perona raised an eyebrow. “Do you finally have a girlfriend? Who dared?”
Zoro clenched her jaw. “Gross. It’s not that. And stop being nosy.”
Across the table, Mihawk set his silverware down. Expressionless, but with that subtle way of paying attention that always made Zoro want to crawl under the table.
“Not Luffy?” he asked, using that flat tone he applied even when delivering bad news.
“I told you, no,” Perona jumped in, loving the chaos. “Luffy doesn’t text. If he wanted to talk to Zoro, he’d just show up at the window.”
Mihawk nodded, as if that made perfect sense.
“…Then who could it be?”
“No one!” Zoro raised her voice, irritated that they were talking like she wasn’t even in the room.
The silence hit hard.
Perona was still smiling, clearly enjoying her little sister’s scowl. Mihawk, on the other hand, looked more serious than usual. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“I don’t think I ever gave you that talk, Zoro. I don’t really know how it works between girls, but remember that—”
“Oh please,” Perona groaned, covering her ears. “I refuse.”
“I’m leaving,” Zoro grumbled, grabbing her plate awkwardly. Her ears were on fire.
Mihawk shrugged, not understanding why he was suddenly alone at the table.
Zoro shut her bedroom door harder than she meant to.
Her phone buzzed.
Sanji: “Get in the damn lobby.”
-
-
-
Zoro climbed the stairs with long strides, backpack over one shoulder, a single earbud hanging from her ear, and a tight —and annoying— knot in her stomach. She didn’t know why. She just knew she was sweating all over, and it wasn’t even that hot.
It was probably just the dizziness throbbing in her head.
When she turned the corner of the hallway, her steps came to a halt.
Sanji was there, right in front of the apartment door, with her huge suitcase —the same ridiculous one with wheels that Zoro remembered mentally criticizing more than once for its horrendous design—. And holding the plant pot in her hands. Her hair was down, a bit tousled by the wind, and her posture was somewhere between impatient and resigned, like she had given up on waiting a while ago.
Zoro noticed her crossing her arms when she saw her, but she didn’t move.
“You’re late,” Sanji finally said, one eyebrow arched, her voice laced with a calm that Zoro didn’t believe for a second.
“There’s no arrival time. And this damn building’s a maze,” Zoro replied, stopping a step away from her. She wiped her damp forehead with a hand.
“Didn’t you see what I texted you?”
“My phone died on the bus.”
“Irresponsible.”
“Fuck off. What did you text?”
Sanji waved a hand vaguely, suddenly very interested in the tile floor.
“I forgot my keys.”
Zoro blinked.
“How long have you been waiting there?”
“Two hours.”
Zoro stared at her in silence, like she didn’t even know where to start. She sighed and reached into her jacket’s back pocket for the keys.
“Irresponsible.”
Sanji shot her an annoyed look, but there was a barely-contained smirk on her lips. Like she was forcing herself not to smile. Zoro opened the door, and they both stepped into the apartment.
The air inside was dry, heavy with the stale scent of days without open windows.
Sanji dragged her suitcase along the floor with an exasperated sigh.
“God, it smells like a tomb in here.”
Zoro kicked off her shoes by the bed, dropped the backpack to the floor with a dull thud, and collapsed onto the mattress, lying flat on her back, without saying another word.
Sanji rolled her eyes and let herself fall onto her own bed, letting out a stifled groan. The room filled with silence. There was no need to catch up. They had been in touch the whole break, had told each other practically everything. The awkward family lunches, the impromptu trips, the beach days —even silly things like what they had eaten.
So now, being in the same physical space again, it felt like everything had already been said. Like time hadn’t really passed.
Zoro lay on her bed, an arm over her eyes, still panting a bit from the stairs. Sanji turned her head slightly to look at her from across the room, saying nothing.
It was strange, she thought. To have missed someone she had never stopped talking to.
What was different now, having her in front of her again?
“Did you sleep at all during the trip?” Sanji asked suddenly, her voice lower.
Zoro shook her head without opening her eyes.
“Me neither,” Sanji said. “Some kid threw up the entire ride. Smelled awful.”
Zoro let out a kind of silent laugh, just a puff of air through her nose.
“You should’ve heard his mom screaming.”
Zoro turned her head, still with eyes closed, facing Sanji.
“How disgusting,” she mumbled.
Sanji shrugged, a small smile forming on her lips.
Zoro’s forehead was glistening with sweat, her hair messier than usual, a few strands falling over her face. She was lying on her back, arm covering her eyes, her breathing slow and deep —like she had finally let go of the world’s weight. Her expression was unusually soft, without the usual furrowed brow or clenched jaw.
Her skin was even more tanned than last semester. The contrast was clear in the sharp lines where her shirt ended and the golden tone was interrupted. Her skin looked smooth. Not fragile, but firm. There were a few scattered moles —tiny dark dots you only noticed if you looked for them. One just below her collarbone. Another near the edge of her elbow. Details Sanji hadn’t registered before.
She realized she was staring too long. Watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her muscles shifted, the lingering heat on her skin.
When Zoro opened her eyes, she did it slowly, blinking against the light. She met Sanji’s gaze, fixed on her.
Sanji thought Zoro’s eyes —dark and calm— held a strange stillness, almost inquisitive. Zoro thought Sanji’s were a deep blue pool —bright, restless.
Sanji looked away after a moment, far too aware of the tension curling in her stomach.
“I’m gonna shower,” Zoro muttered, scratching the back of her neck as she sat up slowly, still dazed with exhaustion.
“Yeah, please,” Sanji replied, trying to sound normal. Sarcastic, even.
Zoro glanced sideways at her. “Shut up.”
...