( zoro's ears twitch at that small thunk against the door, brow furrowing, confusion building which he attributes to his abrupt awakening. mere moments later, the door opens, and the cook stands in the doorway, shadowed without the flicker of the fireplace to light him. lazily, he fumbles with the drawer of the night stand beside him, dropping his notebook in there, because — okay, the cook is still here. weird. why the hell did he write him a message?
it doesn't matter, because the smell of raw meat and blood hits zoro's nose and his stomach growls, mouth practically salivating.
he barely has to be told to sit up, grimacing a little less than he expects as he pushes himself up, scooting backwards as sanji reaches out to fix his pillows for him — and his eyes flicker to those bandages on his wrists, stained coppery-red. there's a pang in his stomach at the realization, because —
zoro's wounds have been healing over the past few weeks. though he's stayed mostly in bed, sedentary, everything scabbing over into a thicker silver tissue in all the places he'd been rejoined, he hasn't been actively bleeding since — well, since sanji had rescued him in the circus tent and made that necromancer fix him. it reminds him all too well of the bandages over his eye, blood seeping through, the grief radiating off of the cook so strongly zoro swore even he could feel it.
it feels like that now, too. )
Cook, ( zoro says, immediately realizing how stern it sounds, blanching a little. ) There's nothing dumb enough to be outside when it's this cold. Can't you feel it? ( because he can, since he's changed — it's weird, the foreboding sense that washes over him in the day or so before a snowstorm hits the village.
he tips his chin up, eyes scanning sanji's face, like he's already ready for whatever bullshit excuse is going to tumble out of his mouth before zoro even says: ) Eat with me.
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Date: 2024-01-21 12:33 am (UTC)it doesn't matter, because the smell of raw meat and blood hits zoro's nose and his stomach growls, mouth practically salivating.
he barely has to be told to sit up, grimacing a little less than he expects as he pushes himself up, scooting backwards as sanji reaches out to fix his pillows for him — and his eyes flicker to those bandages on his wrists, stained coppery-red. there's a pang in his stomach at the realization, because —
zoro's wounds have been healing over the past few weeks. though he's stayed mostly in bed, sedentary, everything scabbing over into a thicker silver tissue in all the places he'd been rejoined, he hasn't been actively bleeding since — well, since sanji had rescued him in the circus tent and made that necromancer fix him. it reminds him all too well of the bandages over his eye, blood seeping through, the grief radiating off of the cook so strongly zoro swore even he could feel it.
it feels like that now, too. )
Cook, ( zoro says, immediately realizing how stern it sounds, blanching a little. ) There's nothing dumb enough to be outside when it's this cold. Can't you feel it? ( because he can, since he's changed — it's weird, the foreboding sense that washes over him in the day or so before a snowstorm hits the village.
he tips his chin up, eyes scanning sanji's face, like he's already ready for whatever bullshit excuse is going to tumble out of his mouth before zoro even says: ) Eat with me.