The Suit



Zoro stared at the suit like it had offended his mother, his father, his sensei, and all his nakama at the same time.  It was displayed on a wooden mannequin in the frou-frou clothing shop Zoro had stumbled into while searching for a winery.  Something about it kept him pinned in the store instead of getting directions and being on his way.  A blue-haired woman with sufficient cleavage to smother an entire Marine battalion swanned around Zoro making comments like, "Its tailoring is fabulous", "You would look marvelous in it", and "It was meant to be!" 

Zoro didn't think it was meant to be.  In fact, he thought it was the stupidest idea ever - and he should know, he had a lot of stupid ideas.  But the suit had a spot for his katanas stitched into the waist, and enough give in the fit that he could use them, as well.  It was deep green in color, so deep that it almost looked black, and had no prissy buttons or decorations.  The mannequin wore it paired with a plain white collared shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and no tie. 

Zoro had money, for once, and the intent to drink himself broke.  The Thousand Sunny had docked less than an hour ago at Oatcuture Island, a pit stop on their way to the next log pose destination.  Everyone but Robin, who remained on watch, had taken leave of the ship to grab some time on land before the next several weeks of sailing.  Zoro had lost the others shortly after disembarking and somehow ended up in this shop staring at a suit. 

The offending suit hung there like a challenge, daring him to walk away.  He didn't want a suit.  He didn't need a suit, either.  He couldn't even remember if he'd ever owned a suit.  He was going to buy alcohol, which was a win all around, and therefore there was no reason why he should waste his money on the dumb suit. 

He wore it out of the store. 

"You look very handsome, Zoro-san," Robin told Zoro when he boarded the Sunny with his old clothes in a bag.  The stupid suit had fit perfectly when he'd tried it on, and now he owned it.  It was the dumbest thing he'd ever done. 

He disappeared into the men's cabin to stash his clothes in his locker, returned to the deck, and volunteered to take over Robin's watch.  He didn't have any more money anyway. 

Zoro waited with a mixture of trepidation and resignation for the last crew member to return to the ship.  The comments from the others about his suit ranged from "You look nice" (Nami) to "You look weird" (Luffy) to "You look like you want to get laid" (Franky).  He didn't care too much about what they'd thought; it was that foul-mouthed, dart-browed, aho-cook that Zoro had to prepare for.  Sanji wore suits every day, and he wore them well.  For Zoro to try and dress in one was stupid - probably the stupidest thing ever - but Zoro was still wearing in the suit. 

Sanji's footsteps sounded on the gangplank and Zoro braced himself for the cutting remarks and scorching comments.  There was plenty of light on the main deck between the lanterns and the full moon above.  Zoro wasn't one for hiding in the shadows, and he stood front and center with his arms crossed and his chin set for impact. 

Sanji stopped walking abruptly when he saw Zoro, with one foot on the Sunny and the other on the gangplank.  He exhaled an abrupt puff of cigarette smoke.  Surprise painted his sharp features first, followed by contemplation, and then there was some weird soft look Zoro couldn't identify before it disappeared into indifference.  There was no derision.  No scorn.  No laughter.  There were no signs of being impressed, either.  It looked like Sanji didn't care one way or another, and Zoro was both relieved and pissed off.  Zoro had spent all his time waiting and worrying for nothing. 

Sanji continued walking, coming aboard and slouching casually past Zoro with his hands in his pockets.  "Nice suit," he murmured, and that was all. 

Zoro gaped at Sanji's back.  That was it?  That was all that Sanji was going to say?  Zoro couldn't believe it.  He refused to believe it, and went after Sanji, intending to do... something.  Say something.  He couldn't let it go, just like that.  He was wearing a goddamned suit.  A kind-of, sort-of compliment wasn't going to cut it. 

Sanji ended up in the lounge.  A single light burned by the table in the corner.  Fish swam lazily back and forth in the gigantic tank lining the wall above the seating area.  The crew didn't frequent the lounge when they weren't at sea, and the place was deserted.  Sanji crushed his cigarette in an ashtray before sitting on the curved sofa. 

Zoro scowled at him, earning an arched brow of bemusement.  Now that he had the chance, words couldn't describe Zoro's irritation, so he said nothing. Instead, he threw himself onto the seat beside Sanji, folded his arms, and huffed.  Stupid cook.  Stupid suit. 

Sanji slid his hand onto Zoro's thigh.  "You remembered." 

Zoro grunted.  Of course he remembered.  Just because he didn't care about things like anniversaries, didn't mean he'd forget about them.  He'd planned to buy a bunch of wine, so they could drink it together.  Instead, he'd bought this dumbass suit. 

Sanji's hand slid higher, and inward.  His lips brushed the curve of Zoro's ear as he whispered into it.  "Fuck me." 

It was the best suit ever.