Zoro studied the contents of his suitcase on his bed, trying to figure out if he was forgetting anything. His charger and toiletry kit would go in tomorrow morning. His shinai was already in its bag, leaning next to the door. He'd packed a month's worth of clothing, rolled neatly and lined up in the suitcase – t-shirts, long-sleeved shirts, hoodies, sweats, jeans, and shorts for sleeping and working out. Socks and underwear. Kendogi and hakama. Winter coat, hat, and gloves. Towels and washrags. Shower flip-flops and hiking boots. A small drawstring bag to take back and forth to the gym. Mihawk said they'd buy bedding, laundry supplies, and school supplies when they got there.
His backpack held his laptop, earbuds, a book to read on the plane, and his medication. He cast his eye around his bedroom, trying to see if he'd missed anything. He was going to be gone for five months, until winter break. And Mihawk wasn't about to ship anything he'd forgotten.
Zoro caught his reflection in the mirror mounted on his closet door. At five-eleven, he'd stopped growing taller years ago, but his build had continued filling out with muscle from daily training – broad shoulders, thick arms, a solid core. Scars marked his body like a map, the most prominent one cutting across his left eye, rendering it useless. Three gold earrings glinted in his left ear. His hair, buzzed short on the sides and longer on top, was dyed a vivid green – a choice he and Mihawk had made at sixteen to make him easier to spot. It had become part of his identity now.
A light rap sounded on his door before it was pushed open. Mihawk entered, his tall frame filling the doorway, golden eyes sweeping over the open suitcase on the bed. "Have you finished packing?" he asked.
"Think so." Zoro eyed the dressier clothes still hanging in his closet, wondering if he should at least bring one nice shirt.
Mihawk decided for him by taking a hunter green shirt from the hanger, rolling it precisely, and tucking it into the suitcase. "We shall be leaving for the airport at five o’clock. Be up and ready no later than half past four."
"Yes, sir." Zoro frowned at his suitcase. "You packed my kendōgu?"
"I did." Mihawk studied him with a hawk's eye. "You appear to be in a state of shikai."
Mihawk wasn't wrong. "You're sending me to school in America for a year," Zoro said. "Of course I have some doubts and fears about it."
"You must strive to be in heijoshin at all times," Mihawk intoned. Zoro resisted rolling his eye at the oft-spoken line. "We have also had this discussion. Here, you concentrate on kendo above all else. It is time for you to expand your world."
"But won't this set me back on my training to attain fifth dan?"
"Since you are training with me, no." Mihawk straightened the already straight line of rolled jeans in the suitcase. "You will also be joining the Kendo Club at this school."
"Yeah, with conditions." Zoro tried not to let his sulk color his tone.
Mihawk gave him a sharp look. "Those conditions are part of your training. Teaching others will improve your own practice, as will having to hold back. Practice honing your technique."
"I could’ve done this here," Zoro grumbled. "I don't even know where the hell Indiana is."
"In the middle of the country. Population approximately 6.9 million. Major industries: manufacturing and agriculture–"
"Okay, I get it," Zoro interrupted before he was lectured for an hour.
Mihawk paused and his tone shifted slightly, softening almost imperceptibly. "You will be fine. A school year of study abroad will build character."
Zoro could tell Mihawk was trying to be supportive, and he understood logically why Mihawk wanted him to go, but it was so far away from everything he knew. The uncertainty sat heavy in his chest, a weight he couldn't quite shake.
"Do not stay up too late," Mihawk advised before departing.
Zoro sighed. By this time tomorrow, he'd be living in a dorm with another person, starting his third year of university in America. "Heijoshin," he reminded himself. He needed to stay calm and clear-headed if he was going to succeed with this challenge. The word felt fragile on his tongue, like a promise he wasn't sure he could keep.
Grand Line College sat in east-central Indiana, surrounded by farm country. It was a former Jesuit Indian School that closed and was reopened by a railroad magnate in the mid-1940s to educate GIs after World War II. The college was small, with seven dorms, a single class building with a library, a sports complex, and a Student Union. Approximately 1,200 students attended the school, both undergraduate and masters. It could be walked, end to end, in about ten minutes.
August was hot and humid, mosquitoes and flies buzzing, as upperclassmen unloaded cars and trucks packed with furniture and suitcases. First year students – or freshmen, Zoro learned they were called – arrived a week early for orientation. As an international student, Zoro was paired with a freshman as a roommate, since upperclassmen rarely arrived without already having set roommates.
It didn't take long for Zoro to unload with Mihawk's help. A backpack, a suitcase, his shinai bag, and what they'd picked up at a store called Walmart was all he had. He'd been assigned to Victory Hunter Hall, and his roommate's name was Saldeath. They met briefly as Saldeath was leaving and Zoro arrived. The freshman was tall and serious, and he carried a flute case. He'd given Zoro a perfunctory greeting before departing. Zoro wasn't sure if that was a good thing or bad.
The dorm room was smaller than his bedroom back home. It had two single beds, two wardrobes, two desks, and a window overlooking the parking lot. A box fan sat in the open window, pulling warm air through the room. Saldeath's side of the room was organized neatly and a single poster of a flute player hung above his desk.
"Ready to walk?" Mihawk asked after Zoro finished unpacking. There were other parents on campus, so Zoro didn't feel too embarrassed for his guardian to be with him. He was feeling jetlagged, having been travelling for over twenty hours, even though he'd slept on the bulk of the flight from Japan to America. It was only a little after noon. But they couldn't put this off so he could nap.
"Yeah." Zoro double-checked that he had his room key and followed Mihawk out of the dorm room.
Zoro's room was on the first floor, toward the middle of the hallway. Mihawk stepped aside as two students carted a couch down the hall. Zoro opened his small, waterproof flipbook and pulled the wax pencil from the spiral at the top. He wrote down Toilet in Katakana on the page. He'd already been there with Mihawk after they'd first arrived, but he hadn't written it down.
He glanced up and down the hall, brow furrowed. "Toilet?"
"This way," Mihawk said, turning and proceeding up the hall.
Zoro held out his hands, saw the English L was the direction Mihawk had gone, and jotted it down before following. "Ichi, ni, san…" he counted under his breath. It took him nineteen steps to catch up to Mihawk, who stood in the doorway of the dorm restroom on the right side of the hall. Zoro added the number of steps and direction to his notes – L 19 R – before they reversed the trip.
They spent the next hour walking the campus, going back and forth between buildings, with Zoro adding direction and counts to his book. GPS was useless for him here – the buildings weren’t labeled on the app, and it didn’t work indoors anyway. By the end, he could get from place to place, including from class to class and to and from the library. He’d gotten his first semester class schedule when he checked in after arriving on campus.
He'd been in a serious accident at fifteen, resulting in major scars on his ankles and torso, the loss of his left eye, and permanent TBI. He got disoriented easily, couldn't distinguish his right from his left without the use of his hands, and suffered from regular migraines as a result. For a while, he had language issues, but those tapered off with speech therapy. Mihawk had taken him on as an apprentice and guardian after the accident so he wouldn't lose progress toward his goal of becoming the world's greatest kendoka.
They sort of had a father-son relationship – if the father was a weird-ass vampire wannabe who spoke like he'd stepped out of a period drama and the son had learned to navigate his guardian's peculiar blend of archaic formality and unexpected tenderness. Mihawk's antiquated manners had been irritating at first – all that talk of honor and discipline – but Zoro had come to understand them as care expressed in the only language Mihawk knew how to speak.
"I will leave you now," Mihawk said, after they had returned to the dorm room. "I expect a text message a minimum of once per month. Do not overindulge on alcohol to the detriment of your studies."
"Yes, sir." Zoro liked to drink, but he wasn't home with Johnny and Yosaku anymore.
Mihawk dipped his hand in his pocket. "Hold out your wrist."
Zoro extended both arms. Mihawk fastened a new Medic Alert bracelet to Zoro's right wrist and removed the two old ones. Zoro flipped over the six-pointed star with the serpent-entwined staff in the center to read the back. His alert information was printed in English now, rather than Japanese. It looked odd seeing his name reversed in writing.
Mihawk took a second alert bracelet from his pocket and fastened it as well. This one had his dorm name and room number on it, as opposed to the old one which had his home address.
"Behave. Be safe. Ask for help if you need it," Mihawk told him. He put his hand briefly on Zoro's shoulder and squeezed. "And try to enjoy yourself while you are here."
Zoro gave him a weak smile. "No promises."
Mihawk huffed softly. "Brat."
With that, Mihawk departed, leaving Zoro alone.
Outside, Zoro heard voices calling greetings as upperclassmen caught up with each other. Thumping music resounded from the floor above. The box fan whirred steadily in the open window. Zoro looked around the dorm room where he'd be living for the next nine months. The space felt simultaneously too small and too empty. He dropped onto the twin bed, the springs squeaking beneath his weight, and decided a nap was in order. Anything else could wait.
University in America wasn't any easier or more difficult than it had been in Japan, other than Zoro having to brush up on his English. He'd spoken it as a second language since elementary school, but conversational English and academic English had some differences. Luckily, as a third-year – or junior, as it was called – all his classes were math classes. He'd taken his general education requirements during his first two years at university.
He'd fallen into an easy pattern once classes started. He got up at six, hit the gym, ate breakfast, then went to the Science building and stayed there until lunch – either in class or at the library. Then he had lunch, returned to the Science building for afternoon classes, did homework in the library until dinner, hit the gym again, then returned to the dorm to sleep. He rarely saw his roommate, who mentioned in passing that he had band friends the one time Zoro asked if he wanted to go eat together.
Zoro was having a tough time making friends. Language wasn't a barrier – though he did have a thick accent – but the freshmen had all found friends during orientation, and the upperclassmen already had friends when he'd arrived. It didn't help that he wasn't an outgoing person. Johnny and Yosaku liked to tease that he was shy. He hoped that joining the Kendo Club would solve that, except…
"What's a Kendo Club?" the redhead at the Cross Country table asked, confused. It was sports and club sign-up day at the Student Union. The school's various extracurricular activities all had tables set up in the ballroom on the second weekend of school.
"You fight with shinai– er, wooden swords?" Zoro prompted. He pulled up the school website's club page on his phone and showed it to the guy. "It says here that Grand Line has one."
"News to me," the redhead shrugged. He leaned back and yelled to the next table. "Hey, Cavendish! You know about a Kendo Club?"
Cavendish, who sat at the Horse Riding Club table, frowned and shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."
"The website says there is one."
Cavendish scoffed. "That page hasn't been updated in years. It does not even list my prestigious club."
The redhead shrugged again. "Sorry, man. Cool scar, by the way."
Zoro self-consciously touched his scarred eye and mumbled, "Thanks," before turning away. Disappointment squeezed his chest sharply. He and Mihawk had picked this school over bigger universities because of its small size, which made it easier for Zoro to navigate, but only with the guarantee of a Kendo Club. Finding out one no longer existed gutted him.
What was he going to do now? He had to keep training to ensure he could attain fifth dan when the time came. He stepped around the crowd of students filling the aisle between tables and headed for the door. Joining another club would eat up time that he needed to train.
The hot August air slapped him like a damp towel as he exited the Student Union. He unlocked his phone again, intending to send Mihawk a text, then paused. What could Mihawk do about this? It was already too late to transfer anywhere else; his Student Visa paperwork specified this school. He'd have to return to Japan to get a visa elsewhere. He'd already missed part of the university year in Japan; it had started back in April. As it was, he'd be a semester off when he returned home for his last year of university. He didn't want to be two full semesters off.
Zoro slid his phone back into his pocket. He wouldn't text Mihawk. He'd have to come up with his own routine, use YouTube or whatever. Mihawk had wanted him to slow down anyway. Take the time to hone his technique without competition. He could do that by himself. The thought felt hollow, unconvincing, but it was all he had. He didn't like the idea of trying to train other students anyway. It would make it seem like he had an ego, and while he was an undefeated champion at every level, he disliked bragging. He didn't want attention in that way.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then used his flipbook to get back to the dorm. He had a training routine to nail down.
It was late September. The weather had cooled to pleasant temperatures, eliminating the need for a box fan in the window. T-shirts, jeans, and occasionally hoodies were the norm. Zoro had spent the past month primarily alone, going to classes, the gym, and the library. He'd see his roommate occasionally in the evening before bed, and they'd exchange a few words. Sometimes, one of his classmates would ask for help on an assignment, but things didn't develop beyond a night of tutoring. His awkward attempts at starting conversations with people he sat with in the cafeteria were politely rebuffed.
Zoro told himself he didn't mind it. He was at school to learn. And all the time he spent studying had gotten him straight A's so far – a first in his educational career.
Tonight, though, Zoro's head was killing him. He sat on the tile floor, back to his wardrobe, with a cold rag pressed against his eye, trying not to move. He'd taken his medication and a long, hot shower, but neither had worked. He couldn't take another dose for three more hours. He'd waited too long to take the first dose, wanting to finish his self-created gym/kendo training. Now he had a migraine at the level where lying down made it hurt worse, and he could only hope his neighbors wouldn't start a Thursday night party.
The door opened, and Saldeath flipped on the overhead light. Zoro grunted as the fluorescent lighting pierced behind the rag. "Oh, you're here. Good," Saldeath said. "I wanted to talk to you with the RA."
"RA?" Zoro knew the first-floor Resident Advisor monitored the dorm a couple days per week, quieting overly obnoxious parties on weekdays. "Why?"
"About our living arrangements," Saldeath said. "Come on. The RA's on duty tonight. Let's get this over with before the weekend."
Zoro opened his mouth to protest – it felt like someone was stabbing him with an icepick in the head – but Saldeath had already left. Fuck. Whatever. He could get this over with quickly and come back to the room to die. He needed to cool off the rag again anyway.
Pushing slowly to his feet, Zoro left the dorm room door open as he stepped out into the hall. He looked both directions through a squinted eye and saw Saldeath standing down the hall, in front of the RA's room. He went in that direction, keeping a hand on the wall as his balance was shot to shit at the moment.
The RA, a guy named Kohza, gestured for them both to come in. Saldeath sat on the small couch in the room. Zoro leaned against the doorframe and tried not to vomit. The world was spinning from migraine-induced vertigo.
Kohza turned his desk chair around and sat before speaking. "So what's going on?"
"I want to change roommates," Saldeath said.
"You two aren't getting along?"
"We get along fine, but I want to room with a friend of mine from band," Saldeath said. "Housing told me that all Zoro had to do was agree to move out, and it could happen."
"Zoro, what do you have to say to this?" Kohza asked.
"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Zoro would sell his soul to the devil if he could go back to his room and sit down. "Are we done?"
"Since you're in agreement, we're done," Kohza said.
"Great!" Saldeath smiled, the first Zoro had ever seen on him. "Then Zoro can move out tomorrow."
Kohza nodded. "As long as Housing Services has a room available, yes."
Saldeath jumped to his feet. "I'll go tell my friend the good news."
He bumped into Zoro in his rush out the door. Zoro grabbed the doorframe and suppressed a whimper. He closed his eye, but that only caused his vertigo to worsen.
"You okay there, Zoro?" Kohza asked.
"M'fine." Zoro swallowed down his nausea. "Which way is my room?"
Kohza's brow climbed. He pointed in the correct direction, even as he said, "Little early to be drunk on a Thursday, even if you don't have classes tomorrow."
Zoro did have classes, and he wasn't drunk, but he didn't feel like explaining. "Thanks" was all he said, and he slid his way back down the hall to his room. He double-checked the room number before going inside, shutting the door, and sinking back onto the floor after killing the lights. He pressed his face against the cool block wall beside the door and prayed for death.
Zoro learned the next morning that he was being kicked out of his dorm room. "The sooner, the better," Saldeath told him. "We want to have a party tonight."
Zoro had a vague recollection of a conversation between him, Saldeath, and the RA last night, but his head had hurt too much to fully grasp what he'd agreed to. He felt hurt by the news, even though they weren't exactly friends. The realization that Saldeath wanted him gone – actively wanted him out – sat heavy in his chest. "Oh. Uh, okay. What do I have to do?"
"Housing opens at nine. Just go over there whenever you're out of class and tell them," Saldeath told him.
"I don't have a class at ten."
"Perfect. Then you could be out of here by this afternoon."
Zoro rubbed at the ache in his chest, nodded, then grabbed his backpack and gym bag. He left quickly without checking his directions, only to end up at the wrong door outside, the one that led to the quad. He pulled up short when he didn't see the parking lot he'd expected. He stopped, took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, then reversed and went back inside. He returned down the hallway to the other end, exited that door, and took out his flipbook to check his directions to the gym.
He told himself it didn't matter. Saldeath could live with his friend, and Zoro would get a new room. It was fine all around. Maybe he'd even make friends with his new roommate. Maybe they'd be a math major too, and they'd have something in common. The hope felt fragile, but he clung to it anyway.
But when he went to Housing Services in the Student Union, he was told that wasn't how it worked. "We don't assign roommates after the year has started," Viola, the administrator, told him. "Since you're getting moved out, you'll get a single at the half-room price until the semester ends. If you find a roommate by then, you can move in together. Otherwise, you'll be charged full price for the single when next semester starts." She gave him a sincere smile. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll find someone. Other people lose their roommates at the start of the year as people make friends."
Zoro nodded, but couldn't help the disappointment welling inside him. The implication was clear – other people made friends. He hadn't.
"You'll be in room 306 in Victoria Punk. It's across the hall from the bathroom." Viola made entries on her computer, then unlocked a cabinet to give him a new key. "Once you're moved, bring your old key back to me. The office is open until five."
Zoro packed after lunch, then had Saldeath help him move his stuff to the new dorm before his afternoon class. He ended up missing the class because he couldn't find his way to the Science building from Victoria Punk. By the time he located it, class had been over for half an hour. He sent an email via phone to his professor, apologizing and explaining the room situation. He hoped he didn't get marked down for skipping class, as attendance was graded.
He went to the Student Union via flipbook, dropped off his key, then went downstairs to the security office. He made up a story about possibly seeing a dog go into the dorm, and one of the student security officers on duty walked with him back to the dorm to check it out.
Zoro counted under his breath on the walk across campus. Victoria Punk was actually closer to the Student Union than Victory Hunter had been. He jotted the directions down as soon as security went inside to see if there was a dog roaming the halls. Then he climbed the steps just inside the door to the third floor and started another count, watching the room numbers until he located his.
Having the new room across from the bathroom was nice, in that he didn't need those directions. He quickly found out, though, that his dorm room stank day and night. Even leaving the window open didn't help much.
The stairwell had a weird stench too, that grew heavier on the weekends and drifted onto the third floor – a pungent, skunk-like smell that gave Zoro a headache. He had an uptick in migraines since he’d started living there. Mihawk had filed his various prescriptions with the Walmart pharmacy when they'd arrived, so he could get refills as needed.
One thing Victoria Punk didn't have was a surplus of friendly people. The third floor was considered a quiet floor, and as such, the more studious students lived there. However, their doors were always closed – either they were locked in studying, or they weren't there. Zoro sometimes saw someone in the hallway, coming from the stairs or out of the bathroom. They'd exchange a nod of greeting and continue on their way. No words. No connection.
Zoro texted Mihawk mid-October, telling him about getting a migraine medication refill, his hair being redyed, his midterm scores, and what technique he was working on in kendo. He did not explain about the room change or the lack of Kendo Club. He didn't explain that he still hadn't made a single friend. He was twenty-one. He could handle his shit.
He was not expecting his dorm to catch on fire.
It was Halloween, Friday night. The sky was dark, the moon full. Costume parties were happening everywhere. There was an event in the ballroom. Someone had lit a jack-o'-lantern candle in a first-floor room in Victoria Punk and left the window open. The wind blew the curtains into the jack-o'-lantern, the curtains caught fire, and the dorm room went up in a blaze.
Zoro had been at the gym like usual until eight. He normally spent two hours per night there after dinner, practicing kendo in the balcony where they stored gym mats for the PE majors. It was an out-of-the-way place to train while the basketball players ran the courts below or people jogged on the indoor track. Friday night tended to be dead, though, as students were out partying.
He'd never figured out the count from the gym to Victoria Punk, so he had to stop at the Student Union first. He could see the blaze from there. The entire side of the building was on fire. Students were milling in the quad, and firefighters were on the scene. Gallons of water were being sprayed by thick hoses onto the fire, trying to douse it.
Zoro stared in dismay for a long moment, his chest tightening, before he ran over to join the crowd outside. He spotted his floor RA with a flashlight and a clipboard and went over to him. "What happened?"
The RA ignored his question. "Are you on my floor? What's your name?"
"Roronoa Zoro." Zoro shook his head. "I mean, Zoro Roronoa."
The RA went down his list, then checked off the name. "Thank God. You were the last one missing."
A bullhorn blared and someone began speaking into it. "Attention students of Victoria Punk. Please make your way to Liberal Hind. You will be given a temporary room assignment. Other students, please vacate the quad."
The announcement repeated itself. Zoro stared at the fire licking up to the third floor, mesmerized by the orange glow against the night sky. Then he turned and followed the other men heading toward Liberal Hind. He thought about his belongings. His clothes. His meds. He was infinitely grateful he had his shinai and kendo gear on him, as well as his laptop in his backpack. He'd also smartened up and stuck a few migraine pills in a baggie in his gym bag, just in case. His daily meds were in his toiletry kit, up in the room.
Zoro chewed his lower lip as he filed into a line with the other students. Liberal Hind was the former priest residence on the college campus that was used for housing for master's degree students, adult students, and visiting professors and in-residence faculty. The suites were small studio apartments with attached baths. Roughly eighty displaced students were divided into rooms. Zoro ended up with his RA, Wire, and a guy named Wyper.
There was only one bed in the room, queen-sized, and a couch. Rock-paper-scissors decided who got what. Zoro ended up sharing the bed with Wire, feet to head. Someone from administration dropped off three bags of toiletries from Walmart for them and word that information would be given out at seven the next morning.
Zoro didn't sleep that night. The unfamiliar room, the proximity of another person in his bed, the uncertainty of what came next – it all pressed down on him. He had a migraine by morning.
Wearing the same clothes as the day before, he joined the other students in Liberal Hind's former priests' dining hall. His migraine had dulled from the medication, and he mostly felt the bobblehead side effects. He'd looked up how long he could go without taking his other meds, and a day wouldn't hurt him.
"Attention, students." The nervous chatter in the dining hall waned as one of the deans addressed them. She waited for it to quiet down fully before speaking. "The Fire Department has sealed off Victoria Punk until such time as they can conduct a structural integrity check."
Voices immediately rose, and the dean hushed everyone again. "Yes, this means that you won't be allowed in to get your belongings until the all-clear is given. Further, the dorm itself will be closed for the remainder of the school year."
Zoro's stomach dropped at the news.
"Housing Services is going to assign new rooms to everyone in other dorms. You may be split up from your current roommate depending on availability. Clothing, towels, and new bedding will be dropped off to each room here for you to take, so I would ask that you remain in your assigned rooms until you receive both your new dorm assignment and those items.
"For those of you who wish to contact your parents to have them bring items from home, I would ask that you wait until you get a new room assignment so they know where to find you. An emergency notification will be going out to those parents who have permission to receive information after this meeting, though I'm sure many of you have already contacted home."
Zoro hadn't. He'd been too stunned by the events to think about it. Shimotsuki was fifteen hours ahead. Luckily, Mihawk was a night owl.
They were dismissed back to their rooms. Zoro followed Wyper, who had been sitting nearby. Once there, Wyper excused himself to the ensuite bathroom. Zoro went over to the window to look outside as he called Mihawk. His stomach reminded him it was breakfast time, but he had no idea how to get to the Student Union. They'd also asked them not to leave.
"Zoro, is something the matter?" Mihawk immediately asked upon answering the call. "I received your text already this month."
"There was a fire at the dorm. We're getting moved elsewhere," Zoro told him.
"I see. Not one you set, I hope."
"Funny," Zoro said flatly.
"Do you need anything?"
"My meds." Zoro watched as a few brown leaves fell from the trees outside the window. "Clothes and stuff."
"And your kendo equipment?"
"It's fine. I had it on me."
"Go ahead and use the card, buy what you need at that Walmart store," Mihawk said. "I shall contact your doctor, even though it is getting late. I will ensure that he contacts the pharmacy so that you may pick up what you need today."
"Thanks." Zoro thumped his knuckles lightly on the windowsill. "I'll text once I know what dorm I'm in."
"I will send you an updated alert bracelet once you do."
He felt bad, now, that he hadn't told Mihawk that he'd already moved once.
"Is there anything else?" Mihawk asked.
"No. I should go."
"Very well." Mihawk disconnected the call without saying goodbye, like usual.
Zoro tucked his phone away, sank onto the couch, and decided to pass the time trying to nap.
Wyper would not engage in conversation once he'd emerged from the bathroom. There would be no trauma bonding with him. He opened the door to the room and opted to stand impatiently in the hallway, waiting for their room assignments or clothing to be delivered. Wire never came back, likely swept up in whatever RAs had to do in emergencies like this.
About an hour after the meeting, Viola from Housing Services came to their room. Wyper got assigned to Arc Maxim. Zoro got assigned to Polar Tang.
Zoro didn't bother to wait for the free clothing and stuff from the college. He arranged for a Lyft to meet him outside Liberal Hind to take him to Walmart. He'd received a text from Mihawk that the pharmacist had been contacted, and he sent one back with his new dorm information.
Trips to stores the size of Walmart always turned Zoro around, and he spent the majority of the morning trapped in shopping hell. He got his meds, though, and enough clothes to last him a couple of weeks, plus a new suitcase to put it in. He topped off with replacement toiletries, laundry supplies, towels, and bedding. He also grabbed a bunch of chips and other snack items, because he was starving. Plus, he had a new roommate. Maybe a food offering would gain him a friend.
"I need you to move out," Clione told Zoro two weeks after he'd been in Polar Tang.
Zoro stared at Clione. "What?"
Clione smiled slyly at Zoro. "I have a girlfriend. You know how it is. I got a single for a reason."
Zoro didn't know "how it is" or what that had to do with him.
Clione went on. "I didn't think you'd be here this long. Figured you'd find a way to bunk up with one of your friends, or had a girlfriend of your own you'd be regularly spending the night with."
Oh. That's what he'd meant. "I don't have a girlfriend."
"Well, anyway, help a brother out," Clione said. "Housing Services will find another room for you."
Zoro had thought they were getting along. Clione had appreciated the snacks he'd brought when he'd moved in. They held actual conversations whenever Clione was in the room. His girlfriend was nice too. One night when she was over, they'd even all watched a movie together on Clione's TV. The rejection stung worse than Saldeath's had – this time, he'd actually tried.
"I'll, um, talk to them after my class this morning," he said, ignoring the way his chest hurt.
"Great." Clione clapped him on the back. "Thanks, bruh."
"I'm sorry, Zoro," Viola told him. "With Victoria Punk closed, we don't have any singles to put you in. Unless you have a room to move into, we're not assigning roommate changes this late in the semester."
Zoro stared at her for a long moment before he mumbled, "Okay."
Viola gave him a comforting smile. "It's only for five more weeks. Then, next semester, we can see where we can put you. I hate to say it, but we get several dropouts after the first semester here."
"Thanks," Zoro said, and left the Housing Services office.
He found a chair in a corner by the College Gift Shop, beneath a mural of locomotives. He held his backpack to his chest and wondered what he was supposed to do. Clione obviously didn't want him in the room, but he had nowhere else to go. Should he just tell Clione what Viola had said? But five more weeks was a long time living with someone who didn't want you there. He might not have friends, but he also didn't want anyone to actively dislike him. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, suffocating.
Zoro sat until his stomach reminded him it was lunchtime, then headed downstairs to the cafeteria. He ate mechanically, went to his 12:35 class, then returned to his room to pack.
Suitcase full and shinai on his back, he left the Polar Tang for good.
But he accidentally went out the wrong door, and instead of turning around, he just picked a direction and started walking. He didn't want to be there anymore. The impulse to just keep going, to disappear into the November afternoon, felt almost overwhelming.
He ended up arranging for a Lyft when he found himself in town. It was getting dark. He parked himself in front of the thrift store, bundled in his coat. The mid-November wind whipped around him. The banners on the light posts flapped. When the Lyft arrived, he rubbed his hand against his damp eye and climbed in. "Can you drop me off at the gym on campus?"
"Sure."
Zoro thanked the driver, grabbed his suitcase, backpack, and shinai from the trunk, and used his ID to get into the gym. There were lockers in the men's locker room for students to store their stuff while they were working out or participating in sports and didn't want to go back to the dorm. It required a padlock, which Zoro had. He picked the biggest locker, unloaded what he needed from his suitcase, and crammed the case inside.
He changed into his kendo gear, grabbed his shinai, and went to the balcony to train.
When he finished, he showered, changed into sweats, grabbed the comforter, and retreated back to the balcony. He made a private space between two piles of gym mats, put a folded one on the floor between them, and went to bed for the night.
That weekend, they were allowed to go into Victoria Punk accompanied to retrieve their belongings. Zoro was given a mask, gloves, and garbage bags. Even though his room was on the third floor and the opposite side of the hall, everything was coated in soot and stank of smoke.
He was told to leave what he didn't want in garbage bags in the room. He stared at his sooty clothing – birthday gifts, the neon pink fish shirt he'd been dared to buy, the nice hunter green button-down Mihawk had packed for him. The book that he'd partially read on the plane, dusted dark gray. The silly marimo koosh he'd won at a vending machine, no longer green. The new toiletry kit bag he'd gotten specifically to come to America.
Each item felt like a small loss, a piece of home rendered unrecognizable. He pocketed his medication and threw everything else away.
Thanksgiving break arrived. Four days off, Thursday through Sunday, with classes resuming on Monday. Most of the students went home for the holiday. Those who lived too far, like Zoro, remained on campus. The library would be closed. The cafeteria was open for shortened hours on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. On Thanksgiving itself, they opened for breakfast and lunch and left out boxed meals for the students for dinner.
"Let's meet up and eat in my room, around six," one of the three students standing at the table said, picking up a box as Zoro approached.
"I've got some beer left over from last week's party," another student said.
"Hey," Zoro greeted quietly, offering a smile, trying to connect. "Kinda sucks to have a boxed dinner, huh?"
"Yeah." The three students then fell silent, grabbed their boxes, and walked away. They started talking again before they reached the cafeteria door, sharing plans to get together that night.
Zoro picked up his box and went back to the gym, alone.
The Tuesday after Thanksgiving break, a snowstorm hit.
Zoro had been in the library, down in the basement stacks, doing his homework. Music played through his earbuds. He had no idea that outside it had turned into a freezing whiteout.
At five-thirty, he knocked off for the day. He'd grab some dinner, then head back to the gym to train before calling it a night. He was still sore from pushing himself so hard over the lonely weekend – hard enough that he'd dropped from exhaustion and given himself a two-day migraine. But he'd train anyway.
Zoro headed upstairs, nodded to the inattentive student worker at the desk, and pulled out his flipbook. Once in the hall, he found the directions to get him to the door outside, counted and turned, jogged down the steps, and pushed through the door.
He was immediately bombarded by a gale of white. "Whoa, shit."
Around him, snow flew thick and fast, already piled up a foot on the ground with drifts climbing higher against buildings and trees. The wind didn't just blow – it screamed, whipping so harshly it stole his breath and made it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The lamplights disappeared into white static the farther he looked from the building. With a shiver, Zoro zipped his winter coat and dug his hat and gloves out of his pocket. This was more than a snowstorm. This was a blizzard.
The wind caught his hat as he tugged on his second glove, sending it sailing across the snowy street. Zoro chased after it. It had been cold for a few weeks, but now it was freezing.
He managed to catch his black cap, standing out against the snow, hit it against his thigh, then tugged it on his head. He didn't want to stay outside too long. He found the page in his flipbook for the Student Union, turned to the right, and began walking the two hundred and sixteen steps it'd take to reach the building.
He kept his head down, shoulders hunched against the cold. The snow swirled around him in blinding sheets, sometimes horizontal with the force of the wind. Ice crystals stung his exposed skin. He ran into a tree at step forty-seven, which was weird, and almost into a parked car at step ninety-two. He went around the obstacles, brow furrowed, but kept walking. When he reached the correct amount of steps, he looked up, expecting to see the Student Union in front of him. Instead, he saw nothing but rocks and trees, half-buried in snow.
He blinked, frowned, and looked around. Nothing appeared familiar. The blowing snow made it difficult to see far, but the Student Union building should be there. He'd followed the directions.
Zoro couldn't go straight anymore. He decided to turn around and go back to the Science building. Maybe he'd mistaken his L hand for his right. He just had to count steps again.
Head down, fighting the cold and the wind that tried to push him sideways, he walked. Snow found its way down his collar and melted against his skin. When he reached two hundred and sixteen, he was standing in front of the college fountain near the entrance to the school. "Fuck."
A hard shiver ran through Zoro. The snow continued its merciless whipping, the wind howling like something alive and hunting. There were no lights out at this end of campus, nothing but darkness and white. He turned in a circle, unable to see anything but the fountain in front of him and the wall of white beyond. The ache behind his eye sharpened into something hot and pointed. He closed his eye a second, fighting down the frustration and the building pain. He just needed to put his back to the fountain and count steps again. He was not lost.
The migraine hit in full force somewhere around step one hundred, a vicious spike of agony that made his vision blur and his stomach lurch. Each gust of wind felt like it drove the pain deeper into his skull. His counting stuttered, and he had to start over twice.
What felt like an hour of walking later, Zoro sank onto a snow-covered curb and pressed his forehead to his knees. His nose stung, his cheeks were numb, his fingers aching even inside his gloves. It hurt to breathe, each inhale like knives in his lungs. The migraine pounded behind his eye with every heartbeat, nausea rolling through him in waves. He couldn't stop shaking – violent tremors that rattled through his whole body and made the pain in his head even worse. Snow had worked its way into his boots and soaked through his jeans.
Panic and anger and misery all coalesced into a tight knot in his chest. He was out in a blizzard and no one was going to look for him. No one even knew he was out here. No one cared. He was going to freeze to death because his stupid, broken brain couldn't recognize where he was, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn't do something as simple as walk to the fucking dining hall. Getting lost in the snow like a child. Alone. Pathetic.
His breath hitched. The wind screamed around him. He dug his gloved thumb against his eye, trying to counter the pain. His eyeball felt like a soggy grape behind his eyelid. He wanted to pluck it out. He wanted his medication. He wanted a hot shower.
He wanted his dad.
Bootsteps crunched on the iced snow nearby, and he smelled the scent of cigarette smoke. He heard a soft curse. "Hey, you okay? Why the hell are you sitting out here in the snow?"
Zoro whispered in a raw tone, “I want to go home.”
He just wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Japan. He wanted to leave this place where he had no friends, no Kendo Club, not even a bed. His head hurt and he was lost and cold and so very tired of pretending everything was okay.
"I want to go back to my room too. My nuts crawled up somewhere around my throat." He felt a hand grip his arm. "C'mon, up you get. You picked a bad night to get drunk."
“M’not drunk.” Zoro’s head revolted when he was tugged to his feet. He staggered slightly as vertigo hit.
“Sure. Everyone sits outside in a snowstorm when they’re sober.” The grip around his arm tightened. “What dorm are you in?”
Zoro laughed bitterly and rubbed his stinging eye against his snow-damp shoulder. He focused on the person in front of him. About his height, bundled up to weirdly curling eyebrows, face hidden under the folds of a multicolored scarf. Blond hair hung over one eye from beneath a blue pom-pommed hat.
“Well?” the gravelly voice prompted, breath visible in the cold.
“The gym.”
“I’m not taking you all the way to the fucking gym.”
Zoro's head throbbed with sharp spikes. “Then just point me in the right direction.”
A string of curses as blue as the eyes staring at him filled the frigid air. “Dumbass, drunk musclehead. Shit. Fine. Whatever. It’s too fucking cold out here to argue.”
The hand around his arm began dragging him forward. He stumbled, his balance off, but managed to stay on his feet. Pain jabbed his brain with every quick step. He couldn't do anything more than be led.
The walk to the gym seemed long, but Zoro couldn't count steps, so he didn't know for sure. The wind battered his face and snow froze his eyelashes. The backpack on his back felt heavier the longer they walked. But eventually, his gaze alighted on the familiar sight of the arched roof of the gym building, a lone light on in the parking lot. Zoro fumbled for his ID and used it when they reached the door.
The wave of warmth nearly bowled Zoro over as he stepped inside the building. The overhead lights came on automatically, and he squinted in pain. The guy had let go of his arm when he'd opened the door, and Zoro made a beeline toward the locker room, already shedding his backpack.
"You're welcome," he heard scathingly behind him.
Zoro hit the doorframe when his balance tipped as he pushed into the locker room. His backpack fell to the floor. He didn't care. He stumbled over to his locker, whimpered as he was forced to put in the combination. He rested his forehead against the cool metal, breathing through his mouth.
It took three tries to get it open, but he did. He grabbed his bottle of medication from the upper shelf. The bottle had a childproof cap, and he struggled to get it off. He wanted to cry. He just wanted his head to stop hurting.
A hand suddenly plucked the bottle out of his grip, and he turned to see the guy – coat unzipped, hat, scarf, and gloves removed – standing beside him, Zoro's backpack on his shoulder. The guy read the label, brow rising, then twisted off the cap and held it out for Zoro.
"Thanks," Zoro said, dumping a pill from the bottle into his hand. He set the bottle on the shelf, then staggered into the toilet area to drink from the sink.
He needed to get into the shower. He checked his phone for the time in case he needed a second pill later and returned to the other room. The guy was still standing there, looking at the contents of Zoro's open locker. Zoro really couldn't care at the moment. He put his phone on the shelf, grabbed the two towels hanging from the hook and his shower flip-flops, nudged the door shut with his elbow, and crossed the tiled room to the bank of showers on the opposite side.
Each of the walled showers had an outer area beyond the shower curtain. He hung the towels on the hook closest to the shower, then stripped slowly out of his wet clothing, dropping the sodden fabric on the narrow bench. He slid on his flip-flops, grabbed one of the two towels, and stepped into the showering area.
He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, laid the towel on the floor, and sat down. He knew the cleaning people came in every day around ten to scour the showers. He let the hot water beat down on his head and body as he leaned his temple against the cooler tile wall. He prayed for his medication to work.
What felt like an eternity, but was likely about forty-five minutes later, the medication masked the migraine enough that he could function again. He'd nudged the heat up steadily over that time, never leaving the floor, grateful for the perpetual hot water in the gym. The migraine was still there, feeling like it was under a layer of gauze. The side effects of the medication made it feel like his head was barely attached to his body – like a bobblehead – and he was tired and had to piss.
Zoro pushed to his feet, turned off the water, and squeezed out the soaked towel he'd been sitting on. He normally kept his shower stuff in the empty locker beside his overnight to dry. No one came into the gym between the hours of eight and six.
He dried off with the other towel and wrapped it around his waist. He frowned at the wet clothing he'd been wearing, knowing he'd have to hang it up in other lockers to dry as well. He'd do that after he got dressed and took a leak.
Pushing open the shower curtain, he stepped out of the shower stall and came to an abrupt halt.
There were four people in the locker room.
The guy who'd helped him – no longer in his coat, looking like a cover model in a burgundy shirt and black trousers – leaned against Zoro's locker, scrolling through his phone. A Black guy with a mane of textured hair sat cross-legged on the bench, playing on a Switch. A short, very hairy guy wearing a hat with reindeer antlers leaned over to watch the game. And a fourth guy in shorts and a red shirt lay back on the bench, eating from a bag of potato chips.
Potato chip guy swung upright and beamed a smile at Zoro. "Hi! I'm Luffy. Do you want to move in with us?"
Zoro felt taken off guard. And also very naked. While this Luffy guy continued to munch chips and look expectantly at him, the other three were now staring at the gnarled scar bisecting his chest. His shoulders tensed, hand wrapping tightly around the towel at his waist. "I… um, want to get dressed?" He said it like a question, feeling unsure and exposed. Who were these people? Why were they here?
"Budge over," Luffy told Usopp, and the three on the bench all moved farther down the row.
They were still all watching him. They were going to see him pull out his suitcase. See that he was living at the gym. But they seemed to already know that.
Zoro crossed to the locker and opened it, hyper-aware of four pairs of eyes on him. He stared at the suitcase for a long moment before cutting a glance at the blond. The guy just shifted to the side, giving him space.
Zoro pulled the suitcase onto the floor – his backpack tumbled forward from where it had been wedged inside. He unzipped the case and retrieved underwear, pulled them on under his towel. Sweats next, then he set the towel aside. The scar was still exposed as he grabbed a t-shirt. He felt their eyes on it but kept moving – shirt on, then hoodie yanked over his head. Better. Socks. Sneakers. He kicked off the flip-flops, dried his feet with mechanical efficiency, and laced up.
Luffy ate a few more chips and asked again, "So, what do you think? Want to move in? Koby left last month. Sanji's been using the extra bed because his Victoria Punk roommate is… what did you call him again?"
"An oversized, uncultured asshole who believes volume wins a fight," the blond who'd helped Zoro filled in.
"Right, Sanji finds Kid annoying," Luffy said around a mouthful of chips. "But Sanji's also the one who called us down here, because he said you might need a room."
Sanji flicked a glance down at the suitcase, then met Zoro's gaze. His expression held no judgment, only a quiet understanding that somehow made Zoro feel more exposed than the shame he'd expected. "How's your head?" he asked softly, instead of anything obvious.
"Better," Zoro admitted. "Not a hundred percent."
The hairy guy with the antlers got up and approached Zoro shyly, his steps tentative. "Your head hurt? I saw your Medic Alert bracelets. Do you have special medicine?"
"Chopper's our resident doctor-to-be," Sanji said. "He's a junior EMT. A great one, at that."
Chopper grabbed his hat and grinned widely, then cursed. "Asshole! Saying nice things about me doesn't make me happy at all."
Zoro stared at him a moment, processing the bizarre contradiction, then glanced back at Sanji before zipping up his suitcase. He hesitated, unsure what to do. His hands felt oddly empty without a task.
The Black guy jumped up, tucking the Switch in the pocket of his overalls. "I can take that suitcase. They don't call me Strongman Usopp for nothing." Usopp flexed, which wasn't unimpressive. He wasn't Zoro's size, but he appeared to work out.
"So you're coming?" Luffy said, smiling hopefully at him.
Zoro shifted his gaze between the four of them, all watching him with some sort of anticipation. It was the first time someone had actively sought him out to live with them, instead of kicking him out. The realization settled in his chest, unfamiliar and uncomfortable. "Okay," he said. It probably wouldn't last, but it would be nice to sleep in a bed for a few days instead of on the mats.
"Great!" Luffy sprang to his feet. He shoved a handful of chips into his mouth, then rolled the bag shut.
It was the signal for everyone to move. The locker room erupted into motion – coats, hats, and gloves were put on. Zoro's locker was raided for items and packed into his suitcase without input from him. Someone fetched his wet things from the shower. His coat was handed to him. He felt overwhelmed, swept up in the momentum of their collective energy, as he shouldered his shinai bag and never-used kendōgu bag.
Usopp attempted to heft the suitcase and grunted. "Strongman Usopp forgot his weight belt."
Sanji brushed him aside and lifted it with easy strength. "C'mon, Strongman. Go start the truck."
Usopp hurried off, and Luffy took the padlock off the locker and handed it to Zoro. "Ready?"
Zoro nodded, and Luffy slung an arm around his shoulders and dragged him toward the door. "You're going to love living in Going Merry. We have the best dorm on campus. And the best rooms!"
He was ushered into a truck, crammed into the back crew cab with Chopper and Luffy. His suitcase was wedged on the floor at Sanji's feet in the front, with Sanji's long legs folded cross-legged. Seatbelts clicked on, the heater pumping. The snow hadn't let up, swirling into almost a whiteout in the headlights outside the front window.
Usopp drove at a snail's pace. The wind rattled the windows. The windshield wipers squeaked. Usopp leaned forward, close to the wheel, peering out the window. Luffy kept Zoro distracted by peppering him with questions: his name, his year, his major, what was in the shinai bag, could he play with the shinai? Chopper's antlers kept bumping into Zoro's shoulder as he spoke over the seat to Sanji about the symptoms of frostbite should they crash and be stuck in the snowstorm.
When they finally parked in a lot, Zoro had no idea where they were. He followed along, going into a door to an L-shaped dorm and into a stairwell. They hiked up to the second floor of the two-floor building and went down the hall to the opposite end. Luffy flung open the door to the last room, across from another stairwell, and proclaimed, "Welcome to the Strawhat Bedquarters!"
The dorm room was the standard size, but Zoro hadn't expected the layout. It had four bunks, one set against the side wall, the other in front of the window. The movable wardrobes lined the other side of the room. There wasn't a lot of space in the middle, but a throw rug had been put down. There were no desks to be seen, or any of the usual comforts, like a TV or fridge, as had been in the other rooms he'd stayed in with a roommate.
Sanji set Zoro's suitcase in an empty wardrobe and stepped back out into the hall. Chopper, Usopp, and Luffy all shed their winter gear, tossing it on the ends of their beds.
"This one's yours, Zoro," Chopper said, patting the lower bunk to the left of the door. "You're under me!"
"Thanks." Zoro still felt awkward, his innate shyness drawing him inward. He put his shinai and kendōgu bags on the bed and removed his coat. He still had to piss. "Where's the toilet?"
"Down the hall on the right," Sanji said from the doorway, his own coat unzipped.
Zoro pulled out his flipbook, opening it to the Toilet page. "Will you show me?"
Sanji arched his brow, but shrugged. "Sure."
He turned and started walking. Zoro stepped out of the dorm room, checked his hand, and wrote R at the bottom of the page. He started counting under his breath, keeping his eye on Sanji as he proceeded up the hall. Sanji rounded the corner of the L-shaped hall, and Zoro felt a brief spurt of panic when he lost sight. He didn't want to embarrass himself already.
But Sanji was just around the corner, lurking in an open, lighted doorway. "Right here, greenie."
Zoro scowled. "Don't call me that," he said, after he finished his count. He jotted down the number, included the information about the turn in the hall, and checked his hand, adding another R to his flipbook.
Sanji flicked a glance at the book. "Could go with 'grass-brain'," he mocked casually.
Annoyed, Zoro smacked his shoulder into Sanji's, hard, as he passed. Sanji only chuckled.
The bathroom was like all the others in the dorms: a wall of sinks in the middle of the room, a line of stalls to the right, behind the sinks were urinals and four shower stalls. Zoro relieved himself at the urinal and went to wash his hands. He was surprised to see Sanji still lingering.
"Second shower has the best water pressure," Sanji commented when he saw Zoro's furrowed brow in the mirror's reflection. "Don't use the first stall behind the door. That's reserved for the ladies."
Zoro's brow creased further. "Women use this bathroom?"
"Yeah, where else would they go when they're here?" Sanji clicked his tongue. "Can tell you haven't had a girlfriend."
Zoro scowled. "That's none of your business."
Sanji smirked. "Thanks for confirming." He pushed off the doorway. "C'mon, I'll take you back."
Zoro realized that Sanji had figured out what the flipbook was for, and he was torn between embarrassment and gratitude that Sanji hadn't made a big deal about it or made fun of him. The casual acceptance felt nice. He followed Sanji out the door, jotted down the new direction to go, the jog in the hall, the number of steps back to the dorm room. He wrote down the door number – 202 – in parentheses.
"This is me," Zoro heard behind him, and he turned to see Sanji had moved across the hall, to the room next to the stairs, 203. He had his hand on the knob. "If those idiots give you problems, let me know, and I'll kick their asses."
"What makes you think I can't do that myself?" Zoro said.
Sanji's lips curved. "I'll believe that when I see it… moss."
Zoro flicked him off. Sanji laughed, opened his door, and went inside.
Luffy suddenly popped up in front of Zoro, all smiles and energy. "We're going to eat cold pizza and have a Frozen marathon. C'mon!" He latched onto Zoro's arm, and instead of pulling him into the room, he dragged him next door, to room 204, throwing open the door. "This is Strawhat Central. The doors to both rooms are open all the time, in case people want to hang out."
That wasn't something to be proud of, Zoro thought, as he surveyed the new room. There were no beds, no wardrobes – those were next door, he realized. Instead, the room had four desks crammed into the back corners, a floral couch, a ratty blue loveseat, two beanbag chairs, and a TV. A bar complete with stools was built beneath the window. Three mini-fridges were stacked atop each other behind it, with dual microwaves taking up the space on one desk.
The walls were covered in posters. There was a gaming console under the TV. Luffy moved a pile of manuals, papers, and small cloth bags from the couch to one of the desks. Usopp came into the room, carrying a laptop. He hooked it up to the TV. Chopper wandered in, carrying a blanket and pillow. He made himself a nest in the corner of the loveseat.
Zoro stood awkwardly out of the way, still unsure of himself. His migraine was still there beneath the medication. He really just wanted to go to bed, but these three seemed to want him to stay and join them.
"You want to sit by me?" Chopper offered the other end of the loveseat. Zoro walked over and sank down, leaning against the arm, keeping space between them.
Chopper suddenly fluffed the blanket, settling it over both of them. Zoro blinked, gazing at the colorful afghan across his legs. The gesture felt foreign, but also oddly comforting.
"Pizza, pizza, pizza," Luffy declared, swanning from behind the bar, passing out entire leftover pizza boxes. He shoved one at Zoro, dropped another by the yellow beanbag chair, and four boxes beside the blue beanbag.
"Why do you have so many cold pizzas?" Zoro found himself asking, bemused.
"We knew the snowstorm was coming," Usopp said, pressing play on the movie. "Ordered it yesterday to save for today."
Chopper took a piece from Zoro's box. "Luckily, it's still great cold! Though if you want, you can microwave it."
Zoro's nose wrinkled. "No thanks." His stomach reminded him that he had missed dinner, being lost in the snowstorm. He took a piece of pepperoni and sausage and bit into it. Cold, but still delicious.
Sanji came into the room through the open door, carrying a six-pack and a glass of wine. He'd changed into track pants and a long-sleeved tee with two crabs fighting with tongs. He passed out the beer, pausing when he got to Zoro. "This okay with your meds?" he asked softly.
Zoro passed. "Maybe later."
Sanji nodded. "I'll leave it in the fridge for you."
"Shh! It's on!" Chopper said excitedly, as the opening song to the movie began. "Turn up the volume!"
Usopp adjusted the volume, then took his seat on the yellow beanbag. Luffy had flopped belly-first onto the blue one and was halfway through a box of cold pizza already.
After sticking the beer in the fridge, Sanji stole one of Luffy's pizzas, earning a "Hey!" before he dropped onto the floral couch. "I'll give you what I don't eat."
"You better."
"Shh!" Chopper chided.
The group settled down. Zoro let his gaze drift from person to person as the movie unfolded. Usopp picked mushrooms off his pizza. Chopper mouthed along to the movie. Luffy kicked his legs lazily back and forth. Sanji was watching him when Zoro met his eye, and Zoro felt his cheeks heat. He quickly glanced away. A funny, unknown tingle settled in his chest. He ignored it in favor of another bite of pizza.
Zoro's phone vibrated by his ear at 5:40 in the morning, waking him up. For a moment, he was disoriented. He saw the top of a bunk above him, heard unfamiliar snoring. The bed beneath him wasn't a hard mat. He was in a dorm room. It hadn't been a weird nightmare that turned into a nice, cozy dream.
He pushed himself out of bed, casting a glance at the other sleeping occupants. A warmth bloomed in his chest. They'd watched both Frozen movies, Zoro falling asleep during the second one, only to be woken by a light flick to his earrings and Sanji murmuring, "Time for all good plants to go to bed."
Zoro had swatted at Sanji, who danced out of the way with a laugh and departed for his own room. Zoro had gone with the other three back to the room with the bunks, pulled out his bedding, and crawled into bed. He fell asleep instantly.
Now, it was morning. Faint outdoor lamplight trickled through the parted curtains over the window. The sun wouldn't rise for close to another hour. Zoro quietly dug through his suitcase, dressing for the day. After a trip to the bathroom, he packed his gym bag, shouldered his backpack, and hesitated with his hand hovering over his kendo bags. He didn't know if he'd come back to the room, didn't know if he'd find it, or if they would want him around more than for sleeping. Better to take his gear, stick to his routine. The familiar weight of uncertainty settled over him.
The benefit of the room was that it was directly across from a stairwell. Bundled in his winter gear – which had dried overnight – he trudged down the stairs and pushed through the door. The world outside was a winter wonderland. White snow everywhere, about fifteen inches, coating everything. The snowplows were already out, clearing the sidewalks and streets. It was still freezing, but the wind had quit, and it was no longer snowing.
But the best part, directly in front of him across the plowed street, was the Science building. He stared at it for a long, disbelieving moment, his breath catching. Twenty-seven steps, and he was on the sidewalk in front of it. He turned around, and the L-shaped dorm building was right across from him. The name Going Merry hung on the side of the building, next to a ram with curled horns, wearing a cap made of snow.
Zoro took out his flipbook and under the three crossed-out lines on the Dorm page, he wrote Going Merry – 27 steps, straight across from the Science building main entrance.
He thought he'd have to wait until someone else left, or someone passed by that he could grab directions from. Instead, he'd been able to find his own way, because it was right there. The realization was almost too good to be true.
He laughed to himself. Amazed. Delighted. He opened his flipbook to the Gym page and followed the directions from the Science building. The snow crunched underfoot. He hummed as he counted his steps, The cold never bothered me anyway.
Zoro's gaze jerked up, startled, when someone plopped down in the seat across from him in the cafeteria. It was 7:30, his usual time to eat after he'd worked out, showered, and walked back to the Student Union. The cafeteria was a quarter full with early risers who wanted a bite before their 8:00 class.
Usopp sat across from him, holding a coffee mug the size of a fishbowl. He groaned. "I am never taking an eight o'clock class again."
Zoro blinked, glanced down at his food, and then back up again. Usopp was still there. He half-expected the guy to realize his mistake and move to another table.
"You were gone when I got up this morning," Usopp commented, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I go to the gym at six," Zoro said.
Usopp stared at him in dismay. "Why would you do that to yourself?"
"Um…" Zoro didn't know how to answer that, but he did have a question. "Why are you sitting with me?"
"Why wouldn't I sit with you?" Usopp sounded genuinely confused. "Oh, you mean, why haven't I before? I usually just fill up on coffee and head to class to sleep until the professor arrives." He held up his mug as evidence. "But I saw your hair this morning and decided to join you." He paused. "That's okay, right? You didn't want to be left alone to mourn your state of wakefulness?"
"No," Zoro said rather swiftly. "I mean, you can stay."
Usopp took several gulps of coffee, and Zoro went back to his eggs. He tamped down on the warm feeling in his chest, the second of the day. He didn't want to get used to this, didn't want to expect it, but the feeling persisted anyway.
"What time do you usually eat lunch?" Usopp asked. "Or dinner, for that matter. I think one of us would've remembered seeing you in here before."
"At noon and five-thirty."
"Ah, that would do it." Usopp motioned generally. "We don't eat lunch or dinner until just before the cafeteria closes. None of us have a one o'clock. Luffy likes to be the last one in, because he'll eat all the leftovers behind the line."
"I can't believe he ate all those pizzas himself last night."
"Oh, that's nothing. We've gotten banned from several all-you-can-eat buffets because of the amount he can chow down," Usopp said. "It's like he has a rubber stomach."
Conversation fell into the casual getting-to-know-you topics of classes and majors. Usopp was a mechanical engineering major, but as a freshman, he was primarily taking his general ed classes. He asked questions about universities in Japan and bemoaned the boringness of history class in any country.
By the time Zoro bussed his tray and the two of them headed off to class, Zoro was feeling something he hadn't felt in months – contentment. The sensation was fragile, tentative, but undeniably real.
Chopper showed up to have lunch with him, and everyone showed up at the time he usually ate dinner. His surprise must've been evident, because Sanji snarked, "What's the matter, moss? Never ate dinner with anyone before?"
"No," Zoro replied flatly, and that shut him up fast. Sanji's expression flickered – something like regret crossing his features before he looked away.
Luffy was loud and boisterous, and more and more people joined their table as they ate. He seemed to be friends with everyone. A redhead named Nami and her girlfriend Vivi dropped down, called them all losers, and proceeded to talk nonstop with Usopp about some weather spells or something. Koby and his roommate Helmeppo sat down, and a graduate student named Robin joined them. There were several other people Zoro didn't catch the names of, conversations overlapping, and he was feeling rather overwhelmed. The noise pressed in on him, too much after months of solitude. He made his escape at ten to six, to go train, and he'd never thought he'd be glad for the quiet in the gym.
He'd left his kendo gear in the locker at the gym that morning, changed, and went up to the balcony to run through katas. The familiar movements centered him, the repetition soothing after the chaos of dinner. At eight, he returned to the dorm, pleased to find it right away, across from the Science building.
When he got upstairs, room 202 was directly in front of him. No watching the room numbers as he counted. No flipbook needed. The door was unlocked, and he stored his gear in his wardrobe. He changed into sweats and a t-shirt, gathered his shower stuff, and went to clean up.
Luffy called out to him from the open doorway of Strawhat Central on his way back to the room. "Hey, Zoro. What time are your classes tomorrow?"
Zoro stopped in the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder. "I have a 9:30 and a 12:35."
"I'll meet you at Housing Services around eleven and we can make you officially my roommate." Luffy beamed at him.
Zoro felt that warmth again, spreading through his chest like sunlight. A shy smile graced his lips. "Okay."
Friday came, and Zoro had been living with the Strawhats for three days. He had a new key with smiles from Viola – not that they used keys – and he was never alone at meals. He still hadn't unpacked yet, wary that this wouldn't last.
"You're coming with us tonight," Luffy told him at dinner. Zoro had been about to leave for the gym when Luffy stopped him.
"Where?"
"On board the Thousand Sunny!"
Zoro had no idea what that was, maybe a bar in town. He was trying to let himself relax more around the others, fight his innate reserve. It'd be good to go out with them. He nodded. His kendo gear would be alright locked up at the gym. He'd practice tomorrow, anyway.
When the crew got back to the dorm, he was instructed to dress comfy and pack a blanket and his laptop, plus charger if he was low on juice. Usopp had put on velour overalls, Luffy changed into shorts, and Chopper put on pajamas with Red Cross symbols on them. Apparently, they weren't leaving campus.
Zoro opted for track pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie – all Walmart purchases after the fire. They congregated in the hallway, carrying backpacks. Usopp had a second overstuffed bag with him, which he struggled to heft.
Sanji came out of his room, looking like a fashion model in a loose pink button-down and black compression shorts. Zoro's gaze snagged on his muscular legs, the way the fabric hugged his thighs, and lingered there – caught in something unfamiliar. He'd stopped noticing people like this after the accident, that automatic pull just... gone. But now heat crept up his neck as awareness registered, slow and strange. When he finally dragged his eye up, Sanji was smirking at him, sliding on his winter coat and taking the bag from Usopp with easy strength. Zoro jerked his gaze away, pulse doing something odd in his throat.
They tumbled outside into the evening, bitching about the cold and the snow, even though they'd dressed for it. Their shoes crunched on the snow as they walked through campus. Zoro saw the rocks and trees from Tuesday night – the Grotto, apparently – and they emerged on the other side to a row of buildings Zoro didn't know existed. Or he'd forgotten about them, which was more likely.
The group aimed for the building in the center, a small, squat one named Vegapunk Computer Lab. But instead of going into one of the labs, they headed downstairs. The stairwell opened up into a long hallway filled with faculty offices, much longer than the building itself. At Zoro's confused expression, Usopp told him, "This hall connects between buildings."
They entered a door partway down the hall with WCOO 90.3 FM printed on the glass. Inside, the floor was carpeted in flattened shag green, a hideous orange couch lined one wall, and a table with a swing microphone stood in front of a window. Egg carton soundproofing covered the walls, giving the space a muffled, cave-like quality. The room was divided in half, with a door and a window between the two sections. Beyond the window was a radio booth, crammed with sound equipment – stacked CD players, tape decks, an old-fashioned eight-track player, LP player, and a computer competing for space on the crowded console. Above the closed inner door was a lit sign that read On Air, casting a red glow.
Sanji set down the bags he was carrying and waved at the person in the booth through the window. Everyone else piled into the outer room and began unpacking. Zoro hovered, unsure, until Usopp pointed him to the corner of the couch nearest the door. "Sit there, and get your laptop out."
Zoro did as directed, taking out his blanket as well, just in case. Luffy and Chopper were spreading out blankets on the floor. Usopp was pulling book after book out of the extra bag.
The light above the door went off, drawing Zoro's attention. He watched as Sanji went inside the booth to chat with the person behind the window. He saw Sanji pick up a clipboard and review it, nodding a few times to what the other guy was saying.
Sanji caught Zoro's curious look when he glanced up, through the window. He said something to the guy, then stepped into the doorway of the booth. "First time in a radio station, moss-man?"
Zoro scowled at the nickname. "So what, curlybrow?"
Sanji's curled brow quirked, but he didn't rise to the slight. "Want a quick tour?"
Zoro was surprised by the offer, but set his laptop aside and got up. He joined Sanji in the booth, hyper-aware of the limited space, the way Sanji's shoulder nearly brushed his. "Morgans, Zoro. Zoro, Morgans," Sanji introduced the tall, bird-like man behind the sound board. "And this is the COO radio booth."
Sanji began pointing out the various components of the booth, what they were used for, and general information about the campus station. "We're live from seven in the morning until ten at night, then an automated system takes over. Volunteer DJs man the booth in three-hour shifts. I'm on Friday and Saturday nights, seven to ten."
"Unenviable shifts," Morgans interjected. "No parties for you."
Zoro glanced questioningly at Sanji. "You gave up both nights to do this?"
"The nights got lonely," Sanji replied, his voice dropping lower, eyes holding Zoro's with an intensity that made Zoro's breath catch.
The warmth from earlier returned, stronger now, pooling in Zoro's lower belly. After the accident, he barely felt attraction at all; arousal was something that usually stayed out of reach. Between his meds and the damage to the part of his brain that should've lit the fuse – fantasy, anticipation, that early pull – nothing ever started on its own. It had been years since anything had sparked.
He went still at the unfamiliar sensation, pulse skipping as he waited to see if it would fade like every other false start. But it didn't. It stayed, simmering just beneath his skin.
"I play the music for the parties, which is enough," Sanji went on, as if he hadn't just done something to Zoro with that comment, as if he hadn't just made Zoro's body stutter. "And it's better than seven to ten in the morning. Most of the time, those DJs stick to an hour-long playlist and sleep on the couch."
Zoro forced himself to nod, not trusting his voice, still processing the unfamiliar heat and what it might mean.
"Hey, Zoro!" Usopp called from the other room. "Grab your laptop. We're going to roll your character."
Zoro swallowed, his eye catching briefly on Sanji and the unbuttoned vee of his shirt where golden hair curled against pale skin, then retreated to the other room. The distance helped, but the awareness lingered like an afterimage.
On the blankets on the floor, figurines stood on a giant map of taped-together paper. Chopper had his laptop open and was rolling a weird-shaped die over and over again. Luffy was on the phone, ordering a metric ton of food from the on-campus snack bar. A towering pile of books, laptop, notebook, and a trifold cardboard screen sat on the floor in front of Usopp.
"What am I doing?" Zoro asked, taking his seat on the couch. Usopp came over and sat on the arm of the couch, as Zoro unlocked his laptop.
"Rolling a character." Usopp dropped a small cloth bag on his lap. "These are for you. Gimme your laptop and I'll open the GURPS character sheet."
"A what?"
"Character sheet." Usopp's fingers flew over Zoro's keyboard as he typed and clicked. "We do roleplaying. Right now, I'm running a pirate campaign. You get to pick what type of pirate you want to play."
Zoro stared blankly at Usopp. "Maybe I'd understand that if you spoke Japanese."
Usopp chuckled and began to explain. "Okay, so – roleplaying is basically collaborative storytelling. I'm the Game Master, which means I create the world, the scenarios, the NPCs – non-player characters. You guys are the players, and you each make a character that exists in that world. We use the GURPS system – Generic Universal RolePlaying System – which means we can run any kind of campaign we want. Right now, we're doing pirates."
He pulled up a character sheet on Zoro's laptop. "See this? You get points to spend on your character's attributes, skills, advantages, and disadvantages. The dice–" he gestured to the cloth bag, "–determine success or failure when you try to do something. Roll low, you succeed. Roll high, you fail. The better your skills, the higher number you can roll and still succeed."
"So it's like… a game?" Zoro asked, trying to wrap his head around it.
"It's like living a story," Luffy called out from his phone call, then went back to ordering food.
"Exactly," Usopp said, grinning. "You make choices for your character, and I tell you what happens as a result. Sometimes we fight enemies, sometimes we explore islands, sometimes we just cause chaos in port towns. It's whatever we make it." He opened one of the books to a marked page. "We play on Friday nights while Sanji's on air. Sometimes Saturdays too. Sound like something you'd be into?"
Zoro glanced at the character sheet, then at Chopper rolling dice with intense concentration, then at Luffy who was now arguing with someone about whether fifty chicken wings was a reasonable delivery order. The whole thing seemed chaotic and confusing, but they wanted him here. They'd made space for him.
"Yeah," Zoro said. "I'll give it a shot."
Usopp walked him through the intricacies of picking a character, rolling dice, and filling in the numbers on the screen. Zoro decided to be a pirate swordsman, something he was sure he'd have been in a different era. He had to put stats in skills, pick talents, and choose something to be bad at – "To give the game a sense of realism," Usopp explained. Zoro picked directions. May as well stick to what he knew.
As he was filling out the sheet, more people arrived. Nami and Vivi came in together, both dressed in flannel pajama pants and oversized sweatshirts. Robin joined them, wearing yoga pants and a loose pullover. She brought Franky, an adult-adult student finishing his master’s in mechanical engineering. They piled more blankets on the floor and onto the couch, opening laptops and taking out dice. The small radio station room filled with casual chatter and the rustling of settling bodies. Morgans left, and Sanji closed the door between the rooms for a few minutes as he went on air.
When he came out again, he took out his stuff from his backpack and folded himself onto the floor near the booth with an easy grace that Zoro's eye couldn't help but track. He put his phone in front of him, the timer running down. Techno music now pumped from the speakers overhead, loud enough to hear without being intrusive.
Zoro found his gaze drifting to Sanji. The attraction still lingered, subtle now, but there – a low hum beneath his awareness that refused to fade completely. An overture of friendship, inclusion, and now this. Zoro wasn't sure whether to put his trust in anything yet. He'd been kicked out too many times, had his hopes crushed too often. But he wouldn't deny that it was nice to feel less alone. To sit in a warm room full of people who seemed to want him there, who acted like he belonged.
The map was spreading. Zoro was sure of it. Every time he looked down at the floor, the taped sheets seemed to creep farther outward, a slow paper tide threatening the couch.
The blankets on the floor were buried under the taped-together mega-map – crinkled coastlines, smudged penciled notes, and a forest of little plastic figurines. Nami and Vivi guarded the edges like cartographers defending sacred geography. It didn't help much. Franky's toe had hit the map no fewer than seven times.
Franky shifted again on the couch. The corner of East Blue buckled inward.
"Franky!" Nami snapped without looking up.
"That was a super unconscious movement!" Franky said, drawing his feet back like they had free will.
Zoro tried not to smile. He didn't try very hard.
Across from him on the floor, Sanji wrote something in his notebook, glanced up, and caught Zoro's expression. "You enjoying yourself over there, moss?"
Zoro looked away. "It's fine."
It wasn't fine. It was good. Better than good.
Zoro sat on the end of the hideous orange couch, Robin at the other end, Franky sprawled in the middle. Robin's notebook lay open on her knee; she was taking studious, elegant notes on events no one else remembered. Luffy sat on the floor, surrounded by bones, wrappers, and crumbs, leaning back against the couch like a goblin king of wasted snacks. He wore a straw hat on his head, calling it his Captain’s hat. Chopper hovered by his laptop, rolling oddly colored d6s again and again as if he could train them into obedience.
Sanji sat on the floor opposite Zoro, one knee drawn up, his notebook balanced on it. His laptop was open by his foot. Golden hair, sharp smirk, warm glow from the overhead speaker where EDM hummed between turns. Every so often he stood to slip into the booth, closing the door with a soft thump before his voice filled the ceiling.
"You're listening to WCOO 90.3 FM… drink responsibly, and take care of yourselves out there tonight."
Then the door would open again and he'd drop right back onto the blanket like he hadn't just switched realities for thirty seconds.
"Okay," Usopp said with the dramatic inhale of a man who believed deeply in his own narration, "the pirate ship looms before you, dark sails fluttering like–"
"Like your mom's curtains," Luffy cut in, stuffing pretzel sticks into his mouth with both hands.
Usopp threw a die at him. Hit him right between the eyes. Luffy chortled.
Robin smiled without looking up from her notebook. "Very atmospheric."
Nami sighed and shifted her seat closer to Vivi, who was quietly rearranging the snack bowls so nothing greasy sat near the edge of the map again.
Usopp clapped his hands. "Okay! Back into the story. The enemy captain stands before you–"
"I thought the ship wasn't there yet," Chopper said, frowning at his notes.
Usopp blinked. "It is! It– wait, hold on." He flipped a page. "Yes. It is. It's been there the whole time."
"It was only looming a second ago," Vivi pointed out gently.
"I retconned it," Usopp declared.
"You can't just retcon ships," Nami said.
"I can if they're dramatic."
Luffy bounced. "Nami, Nami, make a storm and capsize the ship!"
Nami shot a look at Usopp. "Can I do that?"
Usopp paused, then sighed. "I don't know. Can you?"
Nami smirked. "I can…" She rolled. "...not."
Usopp slammed his hands on his screen. "Oh, but you did – only your storm doesn't appear over the enemy ship. It appears atop the middle of the Thousand Sunny."
"Shit."
Robin laughed behind her hand. "Perhaps we shall be seeing a TPK tonight."
Franky sat upright, eyes gleaming. "Not if the SUPER Shipwright can save the day!" He thumped a fist to his chest hard enough to vibrate the couch. "I activate Radical Beam – aimed straight up – to evaporate the storm!"
Nami nearly lunged at him. "No! No you do not! You’ll blow a hole in the Sunny!"
Franky posed dramatically. "There is no non-radical option."
Vivi looked at the map. "Does the Sunny have a… top armor statistic?"
Usopp flipped frantically. "No. No top armor. Why would it– who would even– Never mind. Franky, roll a Physics check."
Franky puffed up proudly and rolled. The dice scattered. A collective inhale.
"…sixteen," Chopper whispered.
Usopp buried his face in his hands. "The beam backfires. The deck explodes. The rigging catches fire."
"AWESOME," Franky crowed.
Luffy cheered. "We’re making progress!"
"We are absolutely not," Nami said.
The noise level in the small radio station had risen steadily over the last hour – overlapping voices, arguing, laughter that bounced off the egg-carton walls. Zoro had been to bars with Johnny and Yosaku back home, but those had been different. Louder, maybe, but impersonal. Background noise he could ignore. This was directed chaos, people talking over each other and at each other and somehow still managing to communicate. It should've been overwhelming. Should've made him want to retreat.
Instead, he found himself leaning in, tracking the threads of conversation, watching the way they moved around each other like they'd choreographed it.
Chopper raised his hand timidly. "My character is going to do something. I, um... jump onto the mast and use Guard Point to try to smother the flames? With... fur?"
Usopp gave him a look of deep, exhausted affection. "Roll."
Chopper rolled a nine. "Oh!" he squeaked. "That's… fail."
"Your fur ignites," Usopp said calmly. "You begin panicking."
"Ahh!" Chopper said. "My character needs a doctor!"
Luffy waved wildly. "Zoro! Zoro! You gotta save Chopper!"
Zoro blinked. "How?"
Nami jabbed a finger at the map. "I catapult you."
Zoro stared. "What?"
"You heard her," Usopp said. "She hits you with a sudden gust – there's wind, motion, heroism–"
"I didn't agree to–"
Nami rolled before he finished. Three dice. One perfect, one crooked, one bouncing off Chopper's hat. "Six total," she said sweetly. "Success."
Usopp slapped the map. "Zoro is launched heroically – dramatically – recklessly – up the burning mast!"
Luffy screamed with delight. Chopper gasped. Franky saluted.
The figurine that represented him was plucked from the deck by Nami and placed it, wobbling, on a scribbled section of rigging.
Usopp cleared his throat, fully back in narration mode. "The swordsman sways from the rope, flames licking at his boots, smoke curling around him as the enemy captain turns… and smiles."
"Where is the captain standing?" Chopper frowned at his notes again and then at the map. "Do we see it? Is it raining on the Sunny? Or is it just on fire?"
Robin tilted her head. "I believe it is both raining and on fire."
"If it's raining, wouldn't the rain put the fire out?" Chopper asked.
"Radical beam is too radical to be squashed by mere rain, little bro," Franky told him.
Usopp raised his voice over the growing debate. "The Sunny is on fire, even while it's raining, the other pirate captain is RIGHT THERE–” He thumped another figurine on the map, near the bottom of the rigging. “–The rigging is collapsing, and Zoro's hanging off it like a festive ornament. Chopper is still on fire."
"Ahh! I'm still on fire! Someone call a doctor!"
"You are the doctor," Robin reminded him.
Nami adjusted Zoro’s figurine to make it lean even more precariously. "There. Now it looks accurate."
Usopp pointed at Zoro like a disappointed father. "The enemy captain levels his blade. He's about to strike the rope you're dangling from. Zoro – roll Dodge."
"Low is success," Chopper whispered urgently.
"High is fail," Usopp echoed. "Remember that, Zoro. Please."
Zoro picked up the three d6. He rolled. One die hit a breadstick. One skidded across a grease stain. One bounced off Franky's bare foot and then shot under the map.
Chopper scrambled after them, scooping all three into his hands. "Four… two… three…" he counted. "That's a nine. That fails."
Franky pumped a fist. "Super dramatic failure potential!"
Usopp leaned into it like he had been waiting all night for this. “The rope snaps in a shower of sparks. The swordsman plummets toward the burning deck, rain or no rain, chaos everywhere–”
“Still both,” Vivi reminded.
“Absolutely both,” Robin agreed with delight.
Luffy, mid-chew and tilting his head back, said, “Does the captain hit Zoro? I wanna see if he spins.”
“There is no spinning mechanic,” Chopper protested.
“There can be,” Luffy said ominously.
Usopp rubbed his temples. “Fine. The captain swings his cursed cutlass and…” He rolled his hidden dice behind the tri-fold. “…he hits. Hard.”
Zoro frowned. “Hard how?”
Usopp rolled again with grim flourish. “Twelve cutting damage.”
Zoro blinked. “Is that bad?”
“YES!” came everyone in chorus.
Franky’s foot shot out in excitement and smacked the map dead center, sending five figurines tumbling like a tiny maritime disaster.
“FRANKY!” Nami howled as Vivi scrambled to stabilize the coastlines.
Usopp pressed on, refusing to lose momentum. He straightened, threw one arm out dramatically, and announced: “The enemy captain steps forward on his deck, blade dripping with rain and firelight alike, and–”
Sanji's phone pinged, and he stood up so fast Zoro barely registered the movement until he was halfway to the radio booth. The door shut behind him with the soft, familiar thump. A breath later, his voice washed overhead through the speakers – smooth, teasing, a little wicked, cutting directly across Usopp’s building monologue: "You're tuned to WCOO 90.3 FM. Friday reminder: don't challenge strangers to drinking contests unless you plan to lose. And if you’re gonna monologue like a dramatic villain, make it quick. Or someone – usually me – will steal your thunder.”
Luffy cackled. Robin tittered. Usopp looked personally attacked.
The EDM track kicked back on. The booth door opened. Sanji strolled back in as if he hadn’t just obliterated Usopp’s dramatic climax live on air. He dropped to the blanket beside the map and nudged one of Zoro’s dice with his toe. “So,” Sanji said, a slow smirk spreading, “did the villain cry when I cut off his monologue?”
Usopp sputtered. “HE WAS AT THE BEST PART!”
Sanji shrugged. “He can start over.”
“He won’t!” Usopp snapped. “He’s HUMILIATED.”
Zoro huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.
Usopp rallied, clapping like a man initiating a final strike. “ANYWAY– Zoro, you need to roll to stay conscious.”
Luffy yelled from the floor, “ROLL LOW, ZORO!”
Zoro took the dice from Chopper and stared at them for a moment. The room buzzed with anticipation – Chopper leaning forward, Nami watching with calculating eyes, Vivi's hands hovering near the map, Franky somehow managing to vibrate with excitement while sitting still, Robin's pen paused mid-note, Luffy's chewing slowed to a stop.
And Sanji, watching him with that quiet intensity that made warmth curl low in Zoro's gut.
He rolled. The dice scattered across the blanket. One hit the edge of a pizza box. One spun across a napkin. The last came to rest against Sanji's knee. Everyone leaned in.
"Three… two… one…" Chopper read. "That's a six! He stays conscious!"
The room erupted. Luffy cheered so loud someone in the next building probably heard it. Franky's celebratory fist-pump nearly knocked Robin's coffee over. Nami clapped. Vivi laughed. Chopper bounced in place.
Usopp threw his arms wide. "The swordsman Zoro, bleeding and battered, stays on his feet through sheer stubborn will–"
Zoro took a relieved breath, heart pounding ridiculously. This was absurd. Utter nonsense. And for some reason, he loved it.
"You spacing out, moss?" Sanji's voice was soft around the edges.
Zoro glanced at him. "Just thinking."
Usopp continued his narration, building momentum: "The enemy captain's eyes widen in disbelief as Zoro remains standing. 'Impossible,' he breathes. 'No man should survive such a blow!' He raises his cursed blade once more, preparing to strike the final–"
"Wait! Where am I? Am I still in the rigging on fire?" Chopper interrupted. "Or did I fall too?"
"If he falls, I'm rushing to catch him!" Franky proclaimed. "Don't worry, little bro! Franky Super Net!"
"Uh… okay," Usopp said, looking defeated. "Franky sends out his Super Net. Roll to catch Chopper."
Franky rolled. "Thirteen. Yes! Caught 'im." He high-fived Chopper.
"Great. Yes. You caught him in the net. Now the net is on fire, and Chopper is still on fire–"
"I wonder what burning reindeer smells like," Robin pondered.
"–and the Captain readies his blade for the next strike at Zoro!" Usopp finished. "What do the rest of you do?"
Luffy immediately held up a pretzel stick like it was a divine weapon. "Gomu Gomu no RAIN STEALER!"
"Not a thing!" Nami snapped.
"It can be a thing!" Luffy insisted.
"No," Chopper said, still flopping uselessly in his imaginary burning net. "It cannot be a thing!"
Vivi tapped the map. "I would like to persuade the storm to stop raining through interpretive dance."
Usopp blinked at her. "What skill is that even using?"
"Diplomacy," Robin said.
"Acrobatics," Nami argued.
"Performance," Franky insisted.
"Idiocy," Sanji muttered under his breath.
Zoro snorted.
Usopp sighed. "Fine. Roll all three and we'll average it."
Vivi rolled. The dice scattered and landed against Luffy's elbow.
"Eight, ten, twelve," Chopper reported.
Usopp did mental math using the kind of dead-eyed resignation usually reserved for group projects. "The storm… becomes confused. It rains less. The fire continues to burn. Everything is terrible."
"Great!" Luffy cheered.
Sanji shook his head, picking up a napkin someone had abandoned. "You're all morons."
"All you've done is stand there and pose dramatically outside the galley, smoking a cigarette," Nami pointed out scathingly.
"My character has class."
"Your character probably has an STD."
"Hey!"
"Oh!" Chopper gasped suddenly. "I still need help! I'm still on fire!"
Franky pointed dramatically at the map. "I activate SUPER NET SHAKE!"
Nami recoiled. "NO shaking the flaming net!"
"But the movement might put the fire out," Vivi reasoned.
"Or spread it," Robin added helpfully.
"It spreads it," Usopp said instantly. "It spreads it everywhere."
Chopper let out a tiny scream.
The entire map buckled suddenly as Franky's foot nudged it again, sending Zoro's figurine flying. Nami shrieked. Vivi scrambled to flatten the map. Luffy reached for a handful of popcorn and spilled half of it onto the East Blue coastline.
"Okay, okay, STOP TOUCHING THE MAP!" Nami yelled.
Franky froze like a robot powering down.
The room descended into a full swarm of chaos – arguing, rolling, throwing pretzel sticks as impromptu projectiles, Chopper dramatically reenacting himself being extinguished, Luffy trying to use gum-gum powers the system absolutely did not support.
Zoro sat back against the couch cushion, letting the noise wash over him. He hadn't expected to like this. Hadn't expected these people – these loud, ridiculous, absurd people – to let him in so easily after only a few days. But here he was. Playing pretend pirates with them. Laughing more than he had in months. Crammed into this tiny radio station with people who talked over each other and argued about imaginary ships and set each other on fire for fun – he didn't want to leave.
Sanji's timer went off again. He sighed, pushed to his feet, and disappeared into the booth. His voice came through the speakers moments later: "You're listening to WCOO 90.3 FM. It's ten o'clock, which means I'm signing off for the night. Stay safe out there, Grand Line. Don't do anything I wouldn't do – which, let's be honest, doesn't narrow it down much."
The music shifted to the automated overnight programming – something smoother, quieter. The booth door opened and Sanji emerged, stretching his shoulders as he crossed back to his spot on the floor.
"Freedom," he announced, dropping onto the blanket with a satisfied exhale. He grabbed his notebook and tapped it against Usopp's screen. "Now I can actually focus on playing instead of babysitting the equipment."
"You mean you can actually be useful," Nami said.
"I've been useful this whole time."
"You've been decorative."
"Same thing."
The game continued – more fire, more chaos, more of Franky's feet destroying coastal geography. Hours blurred together in a haze of dice rolls and laughter. At some point, Luffy ordered more food. At another, Chopper fell asleep against the couch and had to be gently woken for his turn. Robin's notes grew longer. Nami's strategies grew more elaborate. Vivi's interpretive dances became an accepted mechanic.
And Zoro kept rolling, kept learning, kept surprising himself by actually caring whether his character lived or died.
It was past three in the morning when Usopp finally called it. "And on that cliffhanger," he said, voice hoarse from narration, "we'll pick up next time."
The group groaned in unison, but they were smiling. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to pack up – dice collected into bags, laptops closed, figurines carefully removed from the battered map.
Zoro helped fold blankets, movements automatic while his mind processed the last several hours. He glanced at his phone. 3:27 AM. He couldn't remember the last time he'd stayed up this late doing something that wasn't training or studying.
"You good?" Sanji asked quietly, appearing at his elbow with his coat already on.
Zoro looked at him – really looked at him. The faint smirk. The softness beneath it. The way he'd kept glancing over during the game like he was checking to make sure Zoro was still okay, still comfortable, still there.
"Yeah," Zoro said. "I'm good."
And for the first time in months, he actually meant it.
Zoro slept through his alarm. He’d been getting up at the same early time on weekends since the second week of the semester. He’d figured since he hadn’t had anything else to do, he may as well stick to routine. Gym, meals, library, kendo self-training, bed.
But now he maybe had friends, or at least roommates who’d kept him up all night. And he’d slept until eleven on Saturday morning, missing the vibration of his alarm twice.
Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtain, painting a yellow streak across the floor. Snores resounded in the room. Zoro could see Usopp sleeping perpendicular to him, arm dangling off the bed. Luffy’s straw hat dangled from the upper bunk.
Zoro pushed himself out of bed. Chopper was a lump under a blanket, and Luffy's feet were up the wall as they slept away. Still bleary, Zoro left the dorm room to piss.
He came up short when a wall suddenly appeared in front of him. He blinked at it, then turned around. The hall stretched in front of him the other direction. Scratching, he went that way, a yawn splitting his jaw. He came up short again when he reached the end without finding the bathroom along the way. He stared at that wall for a long moment, then slowly turned. He found a closed door, and then a hallway stretching in front of him again.
Zoro trudged that way, frowning at the row of closed doors he passed until he reached the end again. He glared at that wall. On one side of him was a stairwell; the other side was the cracked-open door to room 202. He could see Usopp's arm from there. Somehow, he was back where he'd started without finding the bathroom.
“The wall isn’t going to move for you, mosshead,” he heard from behind. He turned and found Sanji standing outside his own door, a smirk playing on his lips.
Sanji was dressed in worn blue jeans and a navy t-shirt holding his winter coat. Zoro frowned at the word written across the shirt. “Does that say Gentlecock?”
Sanji sputtered. “No! It says Gentlecook. Cook!”
Sometimes his English translation failed him, but he was enjoying Sanji’s flustered reaction. He nodded once, like he’d simply accepted the explanation. “Right. Cook.”
“Yes, cook. Because I am a gentleman and a cook.”
“Would’ve been weird if it was the other thing.”
Sanji shoved his hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Toilet.”
Sanji looked at him. Zoro didn’t move. Sanji snorted, said, “Dumbass,” with more softness than razzing, and grabbed his wrist. He began leading Zoro up the hall.
Zoro’s heart thumped against his breastbone.
They went around a corner in the hall, and the bathroom appeared. Sanji let go of him once he was inside. “Thanks,” he murmured, because politeness had been drilled into him.
“Hn.” Sanji leaned against the doorframe to the bathroom. “Hurry up. You’re keeping me from my smoke.”
Zoro vaguely remembered the cigarette smell when Sanji had found him last Tuesday in the snowstorm. "You smoke?" he said as he rounded the corner to the urinals.
"I quit after Chopper talked nonstop about the hazards of smoking the day we met." There was a pause. "Don't tell him I cheat sometimes."
"Won't." Zoro flushed and washed his hands. "Though he probably can tell, because you'll smell like it."
"Shit." Sanji sighed. "Guess I'm not going out for a smoke."
Zoro joined him at the door, and Sanji led the way back to room 202. Zoro hesitated in the hallway in front of his door. "Are you... going to eat?"
"I might."
Zoro shifted on his feet. He wanted to ask if he could join Sanji, but he'd had a semester's worth of rejection under his belt, and he didn't want it to happen yet again. But it would probably be better to rip off the Band-Aid now, to know where he stood, than to build up hope. Sanji likely had other friends, though, and would prefer to eat with them–
"Hurry up, moss," Sanji interrupted his spiraling thoughts. "Put your shoes on. Unless you're going to change first."
A smile spread across Zoro's face as Sanji swept his fears away. "I'll be right out."
Zoro thought Sanji was flirting with him. He wasn't positive. The last time someone flirted with him had been in high school, and Hiyori made it obvious by hanging all over him. He'd never had any interest in her, though, even without the TBI curtailing attraction. Before the accident, he'd looked at a lot of men's fashion and fitness magazines, since his access to the internet at the time was on a shared computer at home. After the accident, he just hadn’t had interest anymore.
The cafeteria was quieter than usual for a Saturday at eleven. Two weeks before finals, and Friday night was always party night – half the campus was probably still hungover or sleeping it off. The Saturday crowd was sparse, subdued, moving through the food lines with the sluggish determination of people who'd made questionable decisions the night before.
Zoro and Sanji sat at their usual table by the windows. Well, it had become the group’s usual table over the past few days. Zoro wasn't sure when that had happened, exactly. Just that every meal now was eaten here, where Zoro used to sit alone.
Sanji was talking about his radio shift that evening, in between bites of salad. "I'm switching from techno to party anthems tonight. Figure people need something upbeat to recover from whatever they did last night."
Zoro nodded, working through his own lunch. He’d gotten the hot beef sandwich and fries. Grade E for edible.
"Don't know if we'll play again tonight," Sanji continued. "Probably, since the semester's almost over." He paused, took a sip of coffee. "My character hasn't had a chance to talk to yours yet. Be a shame if they didn't get along."
Zoro's brow furrowed. "Aren't they us? Why wouldn't they get along?"
"They're not us. They're characters with their own personalities and desires." A corner of Sanji's lip curved, and something in his voice shifted, warmer, lower. "Though some of those desires line up."
Zoro felt that spark of warmth in his belly again. He thought this was Sanji flirting with him. The tone, the way he'd said desires, the way his eyes held Zoro's for just a beat too long. But what if he was wrong? What if this was just Sanji being friendly, and Zoro was reading things into it that weren't there? He didn't want to accidentally cross a line and have it blow up in his face. Lose the tentative friendship he'd just found. Lose this – whatever this was.
"I'm curious where Usopp's going to take the story," Sanji went on, apparently unaware of the small crisis happening in Zoro's head. "Obviously, we have to put into port and repair the Sunny. I can't believe we survived that sea king that Nami's epic navigation fail brought us. Can't believe she rolled an eighteen, when she has a seventeen in that skill."
Sanji continued talking about last night's game in between bites, recounting Franky's increasingly absurd repair attempts and Luffy's insistence that they could just eat the sea king and everything would be fine. His hands moved as he talked, gesturing, emphasizing, painting pictures in the air. Zoro watched the way his fingers curved around his fork, the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he laughed at a memory of Robin’s multi-armed solution to literally hold the ship together. He wondered if this was how people always felt when they were interested in someone – this hyper-awareness, this cataloging of small details that shouldn't matter but somehow did.
The cafeteria hummed quietly around them. Someone dropped a tray two tables over, the clatter brief and startling. A group of girls at the salad bar debated the merits of ranch versus vinaigrette in voices still rough from the night before. The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed faintly.
At their table, Sanji kept talking, kept smiling, kept looking at Zoro like the conversation was something he genuinely wanted to stay in.
When they finished eating, Sanji checked his phone and made a face. "I need to hit the library. Got a final project due on Monday and Jinbe's requiring actual book references."
Disappointment settled in Zoro's stomach, quick and surprising. He nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Okay."
Sanji stood, gathered his tray, then paused. His head tilted slightly, that small smile returning. "I'll walk you back to the dorm first, though."
"You don't have to–"
"I know." Sanji's smile turned playful, just at the edges. "But I want to. Can't have my favorite sentient houseplant getting lost, can I?"
Zoro's face heated. He could feel the flush crawling up his neck, spreading across his cheeks. He ducked his head, grabbed his own tray, and followed Sanji toward the tray return. The spark hadn't faded. If anything, it had settled deeper, warm and persistent against his ribs, a steady ember he was afraid to acknowledge too directly in case it disappeared.
They walked out into the cold December morning, their breath visible in the air. The campus was quiet, blanketed in yesterday's snow. Sanji fell into step beside him, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed.
Zoro still wasn't sure if Sanji was flirting with him. But he silently hoped that he was.
On Sunday, they'd holed up in Strawhat Central to study for upcoming finals in two weeks. They had played again the night before, though not as late. And the adventure kept getting interrupted by Luffy and Franky's need to sing and dance whenever Sanji's playlist hit a banger of a song. The Sunny made it to a port to repair, Nami went with a group to sell their treasure, and Sanji dragged Zoro's character along to restock supplies. Zoro's character got lost within the first five minutes. It was a lot more fun in a game than in real life.
Zoro was sprawled on the floral couch, one arm over his eyes, the other dangling off the side. Chopper had moved the yellow beanbag close to him to study, and was currently fiddling with Zoro's Medic Alert bracelets. Luffy had taken a position in a headstand with a book open in front of him, occasionally muttering something that sounded like memorization but was probably nonsense. Sitting at one of the desks, Usopp constantly flipped back and forth between the pages of his notes, highlighter moving in frantic yellow streaks. Sanji alternated fixing snacks and murmuring facts to himself behind the bar, occasionally cursing under his breath when he mixed up terms.
Since Zoro had spent every day studying since the beginning of the semester, he wasn't too worried about finals. He'd opted to nap, but still be in the room with the others. He was trying not to let his mind drift to the negative, that maybe they were too polite to kick him out. This still all felt too lucky to cause more than a tentative acceptance of their friendship. Like if he acknowledged it too directly, it would disappear.
"I don't usually see these with a full name on them," Chopper commented, turning the bracelet over in his small hands. "Just a first and last initial, if it's used at all."
"It usually just says my surname, but that's apparently not common here," Zoro said from under his arm. "Probably changed to my full name to make sure there's no confusion."
Across the room, Luffy's book thudded to the floor. He made a noise of protest and demanded Usopp pick it up.
"TBI – disorients/wayfinding impairment. Right-left impairment. Migraine balance loss. Not intoxicated," Chopper read aloud. "Oh! So probably a parietal lobe injury, right? Or maybe parietal plus vestibular involvement? That's classic for balance loss with migraines."
"Dunno." Zoro felt uncomfortable being talked about, his body tensing despite his attempt to stay relaxed. But he didn't want to put Chopper off. The freshman meant well. "Been awhile."
"Can I ask what happened?"
"Car accident." He lifted his arm off his face and tapped the scar over his dead eye. "It's what caused my scars."
Behind the bar, something clattered – Sanji rearranging dishes, probably. The microwave beeped. Sanji opened it, the smell of something savory drifting across the room.
"I've seen those," Chopper said, and his voice took on that slightly excited quality it got when he talked about medical things, eyes lighting up. "The facial scar tracking down over the left orbit – if the force was strong enough to rupture the eye, it could easily have damaged the parietal cortex behind it. And the chest laceration… that angle's consistent with a severe restraint injury, maybe when the body twists on impact. The ankle scars – both sides, straight across – they look like crush or near-amputation injuries. Probably from the footwell collapsing."
He caught himself, eyes widening slightly as awareness returned. "Sorry. I'm not trying to make you relive it. I just… I'm trying to understand how everything fits medically. You survived something most people wouldn't walk away from."
Zoro shrugged with one shoulder, the movement small and stiff. "Didn't feel like surviving for a while." He let out a slow breath, trying to ease the tension crawling up his throat. "But it's old. I was fifteen. I'm fine now."
Chopper nodded, the antlers on his hat bobbing with the movement. He fiddled with the second bracelet, turning it over to read. "Why do you have two?"
"Got my address on the other one, so I can show someone if necessary," Zoro said.
"This says Polar Tang on it."
"That's where I was put after the fire."
"Oh, you were in Victoria Punk?"
"For a little bit," Zoro said, dropping his arm over his face again. He really didn't want to talk about his ill-luck with rooms. About being kicked out, again and again, unwanted.
But Chopper probed softly, "You didn't want to stay in Polar Tang?"
Zoro's jaw tightened, and he fought the hurt that made itself known, sharp and immediate in his chest. "My assigned roommate preferred it."
There was silence. The kind that felt heavy, aware. Zoro's shoulders tensed. He could imagine the others looking at each other, probably with pity. He hated pity.
"Who cares where you were before?" Luffy declared, his voice muffled by being upside down but no less emphatic. "You're a Strawhat now."
"Screw Polar Tang," Usopp said with feeling. "I heard they have bedbugs and lice."
"I'm happy that you're here, Zoro!" Chopper threw himself at Zoro in a hug around his middle, startling him.
He lowered his arm from his face to pat Chopper awkwardly on the hat, and found Sanji beside the couch with a plate of taquitos. His expression held a hint of something – fondness, maybe, or understanding, or that particular brand of attention that made Zoro's pulse stutter. "I certainly appreciate the new decor."
Zoro felt his cheeks flush, both from the flirt and the words from the others. Warmth spread through his chest. "Not so bad here," he said, his eye not leaving Sanji's.
Sanji's lips curved, and he balanced the plate on the arm of the couch. "Eat up, before Luffy's done with his."
Sanji moved back to the bar, and Chopper released Zoro to grab a taquito for himself, settling cross-legged on the beanbag with his textbook balanced on his knees. The room settled back into its comfortable noise – the scratch of highlighters, the rustle of pages, Luffy's crunching on nachos.
"This is torture," Usopp announced after another few minutes of frantic page-flipping. "Absolute torture. Why do I need to know the tensile strength of seventeen different materials? When will I ever need this information in real life?"
"Maybe when you're building something and it breaks?” Chopper suggested.
Luffy suddenly dropped out of his headstand, landing in a graceless heap before bouncing upright. "We should game instead," he said around a mouthful of taquito he'd somehow acquired. "All this studying is making my brain hurt."
“I think that was all the standing on your head,” Sanji pointed out.
"C'mon, Zoro. Let's play something. I bet I can beat you at Super Smash Bros." Luffy was already moving toward the TV, powering on the console with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been looking for an excuse to abandon studying all day.
Usopp groaned but closed his textbook. "If we're taking a break, I'm in. I need to crush someone to feel better about my life choices."
Chopper looked torn between his textbook and the promise of chaos. The chaos won. He abandoned his beanbag to claim a spot on the floor near the TV.
Zoro sat up slowly, his body protesting the movement after lying still for so long. He glanced around the room – at Luffy setting up controllers, at Usopp arguing about character selection, at Chopper bouncing in place, at Sanji leaning against the bar with that small smile, watching all of them with obvious fondness.
Five days ago, Zoro had been sleeping on gym mats. Alone. Invisible. Now he was here, in a room full of noise and warmth and people who said they wanted him around.
"You coming or what, Zoro?" Luffy called, waving a controller.
Zoro pushed himself off the couch and crossed to take it. "Yeah," he said. "I'm coming."
Maybe he was really here to stay.
On Monday morning, Usopp dropped into the seat across from Zoro at breakfast. "Gimme your wrist," he said, unzipping his backpack.
Zoro frowned in confusion. "Why?"
"Made you something." Usopp made a gimme motion with his fingers.
Zoro extended both arms, and Usopp pulled the one with his Medic Alert bracelets on it closer. He pulled a roll of clear tape from his bag as he turned the upper bracelet over. From the pocket of his overalls, he withdrew a small, white disk of paper. Zoro watched as Usopp proceeded to secure the paper to the bracelet with an excessive amount of tape.
"What are you doing?"
"Don't want it to get wet," Usopp said, as if that explained everything. It didn't.
Finally, with a satisfied sigh, he flipped the bracelet back to its usual star-side up and released Zoro's wrist. "There. That should hold. If it doesn't, I got tape." He waggled the tape in his hand before dropping it back in his backpack. He pulled out his giant coffee mug and stood, leaving his backpack on another chair. "Be right back."
Zoro brought his arm closer as Usopp walked off and flipped the bracelet over. Written on the paper, his bracelet now read: Going Merry – 202.
"Ugh, regular's still brewing," Usopp complained as he returned almost immediately to the table. "There's only decaf. I have to wait."
Zoro shoved a hand across his stinging eye, blinking hard. "That sucks."
Usopp glared around the cafeteria. "It's all these extra students, going to class for the last week of the semester to find out what's on the final. I see you, and I shall remember you. Revenge will be slow and bitter, like my coffee should be."
Zoro huffed a laugh, dropping his hand. The bracelet caught the fluorescent light, tape gleaming. He didn't flip it back over right away.
Finals arrived with more snow and a flurry of packing. Zoro had an eight o'clock final on Monday, nine and one on Tuesday, and an eight, eleven, and one o'clock Wednesday. Other students had them at different times, depending on their class schedule. Some even had one as late as Friday.
The campus had that hollow, echoing quality it always got during finals week – half-empty hallways, the library packed until midnight, people shuffling to exams with the dazed look of the sleep-deprived. Zoro moved through it with focus, answering questions like he wrote the textbook, his pencil scratching equations and proofs with ease.
Thursday morning, Sanji leaned in the doorway to room 202 as Zoro packed. "What time are you leaving?"
"Mihawk said he'd pick me up at ten." He'd said goodbye to the others before they'd left for their finals at eight. Sanji didn't have anything until the afternoon.
"Mihawk?"
"My guardian." Zoro didn't need to explain why he wasn't traveling by himself. "When do you leave?"
"Tomorrow morning," Sanji said. "Got about a five hour drive back up to Michigan." He shifted in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame. "Where are you headed back to?"
"Shimotsuki, Japan."
Sanji appeared surprised. "Didn't realize you lived that far away."
Zoro eyed him skeptically. "The accent didn't give you a hint?"
"The accent's cute. Wasn't thinking much beyond that."
Zoro's face heated, as his stomach swooped. He realized he'd only mentioned Japan that first breakfast with Usopp – he'd never talked about home with Luffy or Chopper, and apparently not with Sanji either. He concentrated fiercely on lining his jeans up in his suitcase just right, rolling and rerolling the same pair twice.
Sanji studied him for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. "You coming back?"
Zoro paused, hearing the layers in the question. The weight beneath the casual phrasing. He thought about the months of loneliness, the lack of Kendo Club, living out of a suitcase in the gym. Sleeping on mats. Being invisible. He thought about the past two weeks spent with the Strawhats, sitting with him at meals, inviting him along, including him like it was the easiest thing in the world. He thought about feeling wary that it would last, about how much it would hurt if he was no longer included. If they decided to do something else, avoid him, and just not tell him.
But he also thought about the piece of paper taped to his bracelet. About Luffy declaring him a Strawhat like it was fact, not opinion. About Chopper hugging him. About Usopp joining him for coffee in the morning. About the way Sanji spoke to him sometimes, warm and specific and there.
About that unfamiliar but wanted spark sitting low in his belly, refusing to fade.
"Yeah," he told Sanji. "I think I am."
Sanji's smile was small, pleased, and maybe a little relieved. "Good." He pushed off the doorframe. "I'll see you in January, then. Try not to get lost on the way back, moss."
"Shut up," Zoro said, but there was no heat in it.
Sanji's laugh followed him down the hall.
August heat pressed down on east-central Indiana like a damp hand. The Going Merry dorm buzzed with upperclassmen dragging boxes across old linoleum, fans shoved into open windows because there was no AC and never had been. Hot, cicada-thick air rolled through the hall every time someone propped a door open.
Zoro helped Luffy maneuver half a wood bunk frame out of room 204, the thing awkward and heavier than Luffy insisted it was. Sweat gathered at Zoro's collar, sticking his shirt to the back of his neck. The Indiana summer was brutal – humid and sticky in a way Japan never was, the sort of heat that made breathing feel like work.
Footsteps thudded up the stairwell. Sanji appeared, carrying a box balanced on one hip, hair damp at the temples from the humidity. He'd gotten a haircut over the summer, Zoro noticed. Shorter on the sides, long enough on top to fall across his eye when he moved.
"Sanji!" Luffy brightened instantly. "You should move your bed in here this year and sleep with us!"
Sanji paused on the landing. His eyes flicked to Zoro – pointed, heated, brief but unmistakable. "I have a single for a reason," he said.
Zoro went warm all over – not sharp heat, more like a slow rise – like the summer air had settled heavier on his skin. His grip on the bunk frame tightened.
Usopp squeezed between Zoro and Luffy, holding a stack of posters that threatened to slide. "We should game tonight. I've been working on a new campaign all summer. What do you think about islands in the sky?"
"So cool!" Luffy said, nearly dropping his side of the bunk.
Chopper stuck his head out from room 204, hair already sticking up from static and sweat. "Are we gaming tonight? I got new dice!"
"Fine by me." Sanji shoulder-checked Zoro lightly as he passed, the contact quick, casual, and enough to tilt Zoro's balance inside his own skin. "Wouldn't mind seeing what damage me and the moss's characters can get up to in the clouds."
Zoro's breath caught, a faint pull low in his belly, more warmth than want. Six months. They'd been together six months now, and Sanji could still spark that small internal jolt in him with a look, a touch, a well-timed line.
Sanji disappeared into room 203, saying over his shoulder, "I'll text the ladies."
"I'll see if Robin and Franky want to play!" Chopper said, ducking back inside.
Usopp high-fived Luffy with a slap loud enough to echo down the hallway, then vanished into 204 with Chopper. Luffy readjusted his grip on the bunk frame, grinning at Zoro.
"C'mon, Zoro," he said. "Only two more feet."
Zoro grinned back – an unguarded, stupid little smile he didn't bother to hide – as they carried the bunk section into room 202.
They set up the second bunk, Chopper's top half to Zoro's bottom, and threw the mattress up top. Zoro's Medic Alert bracelets clinked as he worked – one with his EMT information and one inscribed with Going Merry and his room number. The bracelet that still had Usopp's original piece of paper taped thickly around it sat inside a fire-proof lockbox in his wardrobe, along with a sketch Usopp had done of his Sunny character and the movie ticket stub from his first date with Sanji, plus a dozen other little things he'd collected since January. Small things. Proof things. Evidence that this was real, that he belonged somewhere, that he'd found friends to keep.
"Done!" Luffy announced, flopping onto Zoro's bare mattress like he owned it. "Now we just gotta get the couches off Nami’s truck."
Zoro groaned. "Please tell me that’s the last of it.”
"Maybe," Luffy said, unconvincingly.
Footsteps in the hallway. Sanji appeared in the doorway again, this time with two bottles of water. He tossed one to Luffy, who caught it without looking, then crossed to hand the other to Zoro directly.
"Drink," Sanji said. "You look like you're overheating."
"I'm fine."
"You're red as a tomato." Sanji's hand brushed Zoro's when he took the bottle, deliberate and lingering. "Don’t want you getting a migraine. Drink."
Zoro's chest did that thing again – that warm, tight squeeze of contentment. Happiness. He drank the water.
Luffy bounced off the bed. "I'm gonna to grab some chips. You guys coming?"
"In a minute," Sanji said, not looking away from Zoro.
Luffy shrugged and disappeared down the hall, his voice already rising in greeting to someone – probably Chopper, based on the excited yelp that followed.
Sanji stepped closer, into Zoro's space, and Zoro let him. Six months, and he still wasn't used to this – being wanted, being in a relationship, being looked at like Sanji was looking at him now.
"Hey," Sanji said softly.
"Hey."
"Missed you this summer."
"I talked to you every day."
"Still missed you." Sanji's hand found Zoro's hip, fingers curling into his belt loop. "You gonna make it weird if I kiss you, or can I do that now?"
Zoro's heart kicked against his ribs. "Door's open."
"That's not a no."
It wasn't. Zoro leaned in, closing the distance, and Sanji met him halfway. The kiss was brief, gentle, tasting like summer and chapstick and the peppermint gum Sanji chewed in lieu of smoking. When they pulled back, Sanji was smiling. "Welcome back, moss."
Zoro huffed. "Good to be back."
And he meant it. Every word.
From down the hall, Luffy's voice rang out: "ZORO! SANJI! STOP MAKING OUT AND HELP US!"
Sanji laughed, loud and bright, and pulled away. "Duty calls."
"He's so annoying," Zoro said, but he was smiling too.
They headed down the hall together, back into the chaos of moving day, back into the noise and heat and mess of it all. Zoro's bracelet caught the light as he walked, Going Merry – 202 gleaming proudly.
He was home.
End