Chapter Text
The carrots on the counter. The homemade jerky to the right (how did Zoro ever get through cuts before Jim and Betty started going to their gym?). He eyeballed the microwave, where the rhythmic popping corn still pulsed. Good. He wasn’t planning on setting off the fire alarm anytime soon.
Not knowing what else to do, Zoro crossed his arms. The mats were all ready, with 15 minutes worth of careful blanket architecture. The scary UFC piracy website was already pulled up with all of its pornographic pop-ups clicked through.
He swung open the microwave door long before the machine had the chance to beep or the contents to burn, and poured the popcorn into his red Tupperware – classily repurposed as a popcorn bucket. Now, there really was nothing else left to do. He checked his phone.
The only text was Sanji’s “Just got off of work, heading your way now!” from fifteen minutes earlier. Zoro didn’t even have the chance to revel in the butterflies the message gave him, because what he did not see was a message explaining Kuina’s absence. That brat.
He pulled up her contact and clicked FaceTime.
“Where the hell are you?!” He squawked the moment she answered.
Kuina looked at him sheepishly. Her eyes were smokey and her bob was pinned back. He was going to kill her. She never dressed up for fight night.
“You bastard, you’re not coming.” The words came out somewhere between a question and a statement of disbelief.
“I’m sorry.” She drew out the final syllable. “I was just about to text you, I swear.” At least, this sounded genuine.
Zoro brought the phone closer to his face, as if he needed to be discreet in the empty apartment. “You knew that Sanji is coming tonight.”
She shut up an eyebrow. “But I thought Sanji was ‘just a friend’.” Damn, Zoro hated her stupid impersonation of him.
“Yeah, he is. But we haven't properly hung out yet.”
“What would you call the last two times he was at your house? Or the last eight phone calls I’ve had to hear about?”
“That’s different, you brat!” Closer, now, to the screen, Zoro could see the dark circles under his own eyes.
“Well, Miguel,” she wiggled her brows at the name of the guest fighter who had been visiting at their gym, “Needs help finding a good restaurant in the area.”
“Can’t Luffy just help him? He’s been here more than enough times to know where to eat.” The flyweight would be in town for his own residency until the end of winter.
“Sadly, Luffy isn’t a beautiful young lady who Miguel would ‘like to get to know better’.”
Damn. Kuina had Zoro beat. He knew how hard it was to secure a date when you trained as much as they both did. And Kuina had a massive crush on the visiting heavyweight. All Zoro wanted her for was a support on a friend-hangout.
“You now owe me two, K.”
Kuina’s thanks and apologies were so loud that Zoro had to shout to add, “And take him to the pizza place on E street, he’ll like it.”
Several more thank yous and the phone call was over.
“I can’t even drink before he gets here,” Zoro pouted to the empty room. Without his friend for emotional support, he felt self conscious. What if this time Sanji came over to Zoro’s place and decided that he didn’t like it? What if Sanji laughed at his snacks? Or thought Zoro smelled? Oh god, did Zoro smell?
He tried to sniff his hoodie. It didn’t smell bad. He had done his laundry that morning and, yes, he had showered immediately after training. He even used the coconut lotion he won in the gym’s last secret Santa. There was no reason for him to smell bad.
Still, his legs led him away from his kitchen and into his bedroom, which was as bare as the rest of the house. The bed, whose blankets and pillows had already been stripped for the living room fort, sat across the dresser where Zoro stored everything he didn’t use everyday. From pens to passports, the plywood box would have what he needed.
Yanking open the first dresser drawer proved futile. The second drawer, with the addition of some scrambling on Zoro’s part, produced a small cologne bottle. Spritzing between the ears like he had once seen in the locker room, Zoro was satisfied.
He was absentmindedly watching the pre-fight slop when the knock finally came. His muscles fought against Zoro’s leisurely pace as he walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it.
Sanji practically glowed under the hallway lights. Obviously not having changed from the work day, he stood sheepishly in his well-fitting slacks and a button up. Immediately, Zoro’s mind went to the gym shorts and hoodie that he was wearing. God, should he have dressed up?
Pink, Sanji asked, “Where should I put this?” The aluminum covered plate in his hands seemed to call Zoro’s name. Fuck, he hated making weight.
“I’ll put it on the counter. I might not be able to eat much be-“
“I know. You told me that you were losing weight for your fight.”
In an unexpected bout of confidence, Zoro retorted with, “Don’t worry, I’m still keeping my muscle,” and a wink. GOD, why had he done that? That didn’t even make sense.
The red hot humiliation wracking Zoro from his toes to his fingers, which were now curled around the plate, seemed to have no impact on Sanji who was in the process of kicking off his shoes.
“What I was saying was, I know. So I tried to make something a little on the healthier side.”
With a manicured hand, Sanji peeled back the silver foil to reveal a pile of oatmeal wads. The surprising smell of cinnamon wafted up from the plate.
“They’re like three ingredients, so they shouldn’t mess anything up.”
“Wow!” The hoodie Zoro was wearing suddenly felt all too hot. “Thank you, cook.”
“Baker!”
He turned around to the counter, hoping Sanji would know to follow him. Zoro was quickly approaching his word limit for the day and alcohol would not be there to lubricate his rusty social gears.
“Here are the snacks, eat whatever you want. The jerky was made by one of the couples who go to my gym. You can also have what’s in the fridge if you’re in the mood for chicken, rice, and broccoli.”
Zoro opened the fridge, as if to show that he wasn’t lying both about his openness and the sad state of his meal plan.
“I bought beer and that wine you said you liked, but I won’t be drinking so you just help yourself whenever.”
He turned his head back to a bemused Sanji, standing arms length away with his hands in his pockets.
“And your friends?”
“Are not coming. Luffy’s on some side quest to taste test the delis in a mile radius of the gym and Kuina is a traitor.”
Sanji grabs a stray carrot from the paper plate. “You don’t have to keep staging elaborate ruses to enjoy my company.”
His cheeks to his neck burn. Sanji was impossible. “This isn’t a ruse! They really were supposed to come!” he squawked at an unbudging Sanji. His blue eyes crinkled in amusement. That prick.
Wanting to get some semblance of an upper hand, Zoro continued, “You can be as annoying as you want. But you’re not going to make us miss the first fight!”
Zoro sprinted past the suited man towards the light switch. With the room successfully darkened, he dived onto the mat, grabbing all of the blankets, so that the nuisance would have none. Slowly, Sanji followed. The television glowed with pre-fact fights and commercials at a surprisingly high quality.
When the fight finally started, Zoro had sprawled completely against the mat while Sanji remained neatly folded into a crisscross position. Still, Sanji’s left knee occasionally brushed against Zoro’s right shoulder, sending shivers down his whole body. If only Zoro had the good sense to wear a tank top instead of a hoodie.
“What’s happening?”
“So this is the Prelims, the fighters who are just beginning to break into the pay per view scene.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That,” he pointed to the glowering face on the screen, “Is Kuro. He’s the underdog for this fight.” The lanky man raised his arms to the roaring crowd. As he walked to the pentagon, the bright area lights flinted off his glasses. He hit one last pose, a menacing feline position, before the walk out music stopped.
“He’ll have to take off his glasses before he fights but I think that’s a part of his shtick.”
“There are shticks? Walking down the runway to their favorite songs in their special outfits feels kind of gay. You sure the UFC is homophobic?”
“Sanji!”
The refs were patting down Kuro, now stripped to his valetudo shorts.
“It is definitely gay and you definitely cannot say that to any MMA bros. Not unless I’m around to defend your puny ass.”
“Do you think they would know what I meant if I called it camp?”
“I don’t even know what that means, but let’s not try it.”
Sanji, horrified, revoked Zoro’s queer card as the next round of walk out music started to buzz out of the shitty television speaker. A somber looking man stepped onto the screen, not stopping to wave at the audience or the camera.
“That’s the favorite to win this fight. Arlong, I think.”
The name flashing across the screen confirmed Zoro’s statement.
“Oh, it’s cool that he’s wearing traditional fishman clothes.” The floral coat waved as Arlong stomped to the pentagon. His long dark hair was tucked into two braids so tight they stayed still as he walked.
“Yeah, a lot of the fighters do. I think they see it as a way to promote their culture to a larger audience.”
“When you make it to the UFC, are you gonna walk the runway wearing a knicks hat and those booty shorts for the culture?” Sanji giggled.
“First of all, those are Valetudo shorts. And second of all, I might!” Zoro certainly would not be doing that, but he was glad that Sanji was enjoying himself.
Then, the fight started.
At first, it was fun, explaining what was happening as they watched. Arlong started off aggressive, which was interesting given the reputation that Kuro has already made for his fighting endurance. If he didn’t end the fight fast, he would be essentially giving the win to the underdog. Relentless annoyance. Paws and deflected jabs, again and again. And Sanji looked genuinely interested.
“You can kick in the UFC right?”
“Yeah, you can. I am actually surprised that Arlong hasn’t tried to, yet.”
Zoro turned his eyes to Sanji whose face seemed to beam with pride until it suddenly flinched. He snapped his gaze back to the screen, where Kuro was standing dazed and with a bloody nose. The announcers scrambled to be the first to say what a powerful left hook Arlong had just landed.
This opening seemed to be what the fighter needed. Arlong began a barrage on his opponent, seemingly taking Sanji’s advice to start using his legs. With each strike, Zoro could feel Sanji violently recoil as if he had been the one hit. It should have been nice, the blonde cowering into his side for support, but it felt wrong. This was supposed to be fun!
When the first round ended, the two fighters went into their corners. Even from the bird's eye camera angle, the splotches of dark blood on the white pentagon floor were immediately visible. The close up of Arlong’s corner, where his team was dribbling water into his open mouth, revealed that Kuro hadn’t as much as nicked the man. This rendered the following close up of Kuro and his crooked bleeding nose even more painful to look at.
Although Sanji had been silent since Arlong’s first strike, Zoro felt compelled to open his mouth. “Don’t worry, the prelims are only 3 rounds so, at worst, this shouldn’t be too much longer.”
Sanji nodded, dazed. At this point the blonde had almost migrated into Zoro’s lap.
The next round started where the last one left off. Arlong continued to pound Kuro, until they were both on the ground.
“Get out of his mount.” Zoro whispered to Kuro, willing the other man to take advantage of Arlong’s sloppy grappling technique.
Arlong swiped again and again for Kuro’s arms, obviously hoping to put the man in some sort of limb lock. He reached a final time, accidentally raising his butt from Kuro’s hips.
Kuro took advantage of the moment. Pushing away from Arlong's body and escaping the mount. Without enough time to return to his feet, he wrapped his legs around Arlong’s torso.
“At least he was in a position of power now.” Zoro mumbled, again more to himself than anyone else.
But for some reason, Arlong put a knee up. Then, another. Then, he stood, bringing Kuro with him. The bloodied man gripped tightly onto Arlong’s neck with his hands and hips with his feet, not yet ready to let go.
Then, Arlong went down with a crack. Sanji gasped.
That wasn’t a standard takedown and Kuro’s neck was now bent at a sickening angle. Even Zoro, who had watched thousands of fights, felt his stomach drop.
Arlong had purposely crashed down on the man’s head. That was terrible. That was career ending. Almost as an absolutely unnecessary confirmation of the thoughts racing through Zoro’s head, the medic jumped into the cafe and ran to Kuro. The cameras cut to the commentators.