Part of the Team

Of the things Zoro disliked about his coworkers, having to go out with them on a regular basis was near the top.

It was part of the culture at his office. If he wanted to progress in his career – or even keep his job – he needed to show cooperation and camaraderie with the rest of the team. That meant going out with them every week for drinks, dinner, a club, or whatever else somebody decided counted as bonding. Nobody ever called the outings mandatory. They didn't have to. People noticed who showed up, who left early, who bought a round, who laughed along with the boss, and who spent too many Friday nights claiming to have other plans.

Tonight, somebody had chosen a strip club. Zoro hated coming to these places the most. They were so far outside his comfort zone that even sitting still took effort. 

The place was trendy and deliberately inclusive, with dancers of every gender performing on several stages spread throughout the club. Men, women, trans dancers, nonbinary dancers – whoever someone wanted to look at, the club probably had them. The main stage dominated the center of the room, with two smaller platforms farther back and a narrow runway cutting between tables. Chrome poles caught the low lights whenever someone spun around them. Booths curved along the walls, packed closely enough together that Zoro could hear three different conversations whenever the music dropped between songs.

The lighting was mostly purple and pink neon broken up by broad stretches of black, with spotlights sweeping over the stages and occasionally catching the audience. Music played continuously rather than stopping between acts, one song bleeding into the next as dancers came and went. A bartender worked behind a long mirrored bar crowded with bottles and glowing shelves, while waitstaff moved between the tables in shorts, briefs, tiny skirts, harnesses, and tops that barely counted as shirts. There was more exposed skin than cloth in any direction Zoro looked. Which was why he'd mostly stopped looking.

He was trapped in a booth with three rowdy coworkers who whistled and catcalled at the woman dancing nearby, bills already flashing between their fingers. Zoro sat wedged against the padded backrest with one hand clenched around his second drink. He'd finished the first faster than he'd meant to and had already promised himself he'd slow down with this one. His thumb rubbed repeatedly over the condensation on the glass, then wiped itself against his trouser leg before starting over again.

The drink was his only lifeline in the place. He wanted to be anywhere else.

He was an adult. He could stand up and leave whenever he wanted. Unfortunately, going home early would be noticed, and being noticed for the wrong reasons at his office had consequences. Zoro really did like his job. It paid well, the benefits were good, and the work itself was interesting.

A few uncomfortable hours once a week. That was all he had to put up with. Then he could go home to his books and his fish and forget about all of them until Monday.

Zoro took another drink and shifted deeper into the booth, trying to make himself smaller despite knowing he wasn't particularly good at it. He'd worn a button-down because they'd come straight from the office, sleeves rolled once at the wrists, and the collar suddenly felt tighter than it had an hour ago. He hooked a finger inside it and tugged before realizing what he was doing and dropping his hand back to his glass.

The dancer finished her number and came toward the edge of the stage for tips. Zoro's coworkers eagerly leaned forward, shoving bills into her G-string while she bent toward them. Zoro focused very hard on his drink.

He wasn't attracted to women, but that wasn't really the problem. She was still nearly naked and standing right there while three men he saw every weekday made increasingly loud comments about her breasts. His face warmed, and he lowered his head until he was staring at the ice floating near the bottom of his glass. The secondhand embarrassment was killing him.

Unfortunately, somebody noticed.

"Look at him," Foxy said, laughing. "He's blushing."

Zoro's shoulders tightened. He stared harder into his glass.

Kid leaned across the table to get a better look at him. "Holy shit. You are."

"Fuck off."

"What kind of man are you?" Spandam asked.

"The kind who wants you to shut up."

That only made them laugh harder.

Zoro rubbed one palm against his thigh under the table and wished he'd chosen a seat closer to the aisle. Kid was between him and freedom, broad shoulders taking up most of the opening. Zoro took another swallow instead. Drinking was easier than trying to explain why he didn't find any of this fun.

"We need to loosen him up," Foxy announced. "You can't sit there nursing a drink all night." 

Kid grinned. "I know. Lap dance."

Zoro's head snapped up. "No."

"Yeah," Spandam said immediately. "That's a great idea."

"It isn't."

Kid laughed. "Come on. Live a little." 

"I'm not–"

They talked straight over him. Foxy was already waving down one of the waiters. "Hey! Over here."

Zoro sank farther into the booth, jaw tightening.

The waiter came over, and Foxy pointed directly at him. "He wants a lap dance. Where does he go? How do we pay for it?"

"I don't want a lap dance."

Spandam snorted. "You're making this way more awkward than it needs to be." 

The waiter glanced at Zoro, expression briefly questioning. "We can arrange that."

Kid shoved several bills into his hand. "Go."

Zoro looked down at the money, then at Kid. "Asshole."

"Have fun."

Foxy laughed and reached across the table to clap him on the shoulder. Spandam joined in, and between the two of them Zoro was practically pushed out of the booth.

He stood there for a second, money crumpled in one fist, seriously considering walking straight past the waiter and out the front door. His pulse was beating hard enough that he could feel it in his throat.

He'd already made enough of a spectacle of himself. Refusing now would only make it worse. They'd laugh about it for the rest of the night, and probably again Monday morning when he was trying to work.

With a sigh, he followed.

The waiter led him around the main stage and through a doorway half-hidden behind a black curtain. The music dulled immediately, dropping from something Zoro could feel through the floor to a heavy thump behind the walls. The back hallway was narrow and dim, lined with numbered doors and small wall sconces that gave off a dull red glow. A server passed them carrying a tray of empty glasses, and a burst of laughter escaped one of the rooms before its door shut again.

Once they were away from the main room, the waiter glanced at him. "Gender preference?"

Zoro nearly stumbled. He'd known the question was coming. Somehow that didn't help. "Men," he muttered.

The waiter nodded without reacting and continued down the hall. Zoro was grateful enough for that alone that some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

The waiter stopped at one of the doors and opened it. "In here. Lap dances are fifty dollars. You can't touch the dancer unless he tells you otherwise. He'll be with you in a minute."

Zoro nodded once.

The waiter left, shutting the door behind him.

The room was tiny. There was an armless chair in the center, a speaker near the ceiling, a narrow ledge along one wall, and very little else. The lights were low but brighter than the main club, enough that Zoro could see himself faintly reflected in a strip of dark mirror opposite the chair.

He immediately looked away from it.

Zoro stayed beside the door, shoulders stiff. He rubbed his thumb across the folded bills in his hand, realized his palm was damp, and wiped it against his trousers. He could still taste whiskey at the back of his tongue and briefly wished he'd finished the second drink before coming back here.

The door suddenly opened behind him and nearly hit him.

Zoro startled hard enough to stumble sideways, catching himself before he ran into the wall as a man stepped inside.

He was around Zoro's height and leanly muscular, wearing a pair of short black compression shorts that revealed considerably more than they hid. A neat goatee framed his mouth. Blond hair fell over one eye, and the visible one was blue, amused beneath an eyebrow that curled strangely at the end.

Zoro registered all of that in about two seconds before his gaze shot somewhere safely around the man's shoulder.

The dancer looked at him, then at the chair, then back at Zoro. "You know you're supposed to be sitting in the chair, right?"

"Right."

The word came out embarrassingly close to a squeak. Zoro cleared his throat immediately afterward, which only made it worse, then hurried over and sat down. He grabbed both sides of the chair and planted his feet firmly on the floor.

The man's lips twitched. He walked over and held out his hand. "Fifty."

Zoro shoved his hand into his pocket, pulled out the money Kid had given him, and slapped it into the dancer's palm so quickly that one of the bills nearly folded over his fingers. Then he grabbed the chair again.

The dancer glanced down at Zoro's hands. Zoro loosened them. A little.

"Have you ever done this before?"

Zoro shook his head.

The man's mouth curved. "I like virgins."

Heat rushed straight up Zoro's neck and into his face. His fingers clenched around the chair again. "This isn't sex," he managed.

"Still your first lap dance."

Zoro opened his mouth, decided there was nothing he could possibly say to that, and shut it again.

It seemed to amuse the man even more. The dancer stepped closer until his knees brushed Zoro's. Zoro's back went rigid against the chair.

"Rules are simple," the man said. "I can touch you. You can't touch me."

Zoro nodded. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed and tried again. "Got it."

He was fairly certain he looked terrified.

The man gave him another amused look, then crossed to the wall and flipped two switches. The lights dimmed until the little room was almost dark, leaving only a strip of red illumination along the baseboard. Music started through the speaker overhead, loud enough to fill the room without reaching the pounding volume outside.

Zoro tightened his grip on the chair.

The dancer turned toward him and started back across the room, taking his time now. His movements were slow and deliberate, hips moving with the music as he approached.

Zoro's fingers dug harder into the chair. His shoulders had climbed halfway toward his ears before he forced them down again.

The man stopped between Zoro’s knees and leaned down until his face was close to Zoro's. His nose brushed lightly along Zoro's cheek. 

Zoro stopped breathing.

"This is gonna be fun," he purred near his ear.

Zoro squeezed his eye shut as the dance started. He didn't open it again.

It didn't prevent him from knowing where the dancer was. A hand slid over his shoulder. Fingers skimmed across his chest through his shirt. A thigh brushed between his knees. The man's legs settled briefly on either side of Zoro's before his weight lifted again, close enough that Zoro could feel him there without actually having him fully in his lap.

Zoro's grip on the chair became painful. He tried relaxing his hands. They tightened again almost immediately.

The worst part was that the guy was attractive. Very attractive. Zoro had already noticed his face, his legs, the cut abs and narrow line of his waist, and the confidence in the way he carried himself. Zoro wanted to crawl under the chair.

His breathing had gone shallow. He could feel himself flushing harder whenever the dancer came close, his ears burning along with his face. His heart hammered from nerves, embarrassment, and enough unwilling interest to make the whole situation worse.

Once, the dancer's hand settled briefly on his shoulder and Zoro flinched before catching himself. The movement stopped for half a beat, then continued.

Zoro swallowed. This was so far outside his comfort zone that he couldn't even see it from here.

The dancer shifted again, ending up facing him, close enough that Zoro could feel his breath against his cheek. Then he suddenly stopped. The music kept playing. Zoro sat there with his eye squeezed shut, waiting for whatever came next.

Nothing did.

"Do you even want this?" the dancer said. His tone had changed. The amusement was mostly gone. He sounded slightly irritated now.

Zoro hesitated. Then, because lying seemed pointless, he gave a small shake of his head. "Not really."

There was a pause.

"Then why are you even here?" The dancer sounded definitely annoyed now.

Zoro opened his eye. The blond was still close, but he'd leaned back enough to look directly at him.

Zoro didn't have a good answer. 

Why was he here?

Because Foxy thought he needed loosening up? Because Kid had shoved money into his hand? Because Spandam would spend the next month telling everybody what a freak he was if Zoro refused? Because walking out would give them something else to talk about and because Zoro already spent enough time trying to prove he belonged with the rest of them? Because three years at this company had taught him that half the job seemed to happen after everyone had technically gone home?

He rubbed his thumb against the side of the chair. "It's some work thing," he finally said.

The dancer stared at him. "A work thing."

Zoro grimaced. "Sort of."

The man sighed and started to straighten, then stopped. He looked at Zoro again, properly this time, gaze dropping briefly to Zoro's hands before returning to his face. His expression changed. "Wait – do you need help?"

Zoro blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected. The guy actually looked concerned. Zoro's grip on the chair loosened a fraction. "If I could just, you know, pretend I got a lap dance, that'd be fine."

The dancer studied him for a long moment. Zoro resisted the urge to explain further. He'd already said enough.

The dancer nodded and stepped back. "You can do that."

Zoro's shoulders dropped before he could stop them. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sit here another couple minutes, then go back out. That'll be enough time to look convincing."

Relief moved through him so fast he nearly laughed. Instead, Zoro scrubbed one hand over the back of his neck. "Thanks."

The dancer headed for the door, then paused beside the switches. He turned the music down and brought the lights back to their normal level. Zoro blinked against the sudden brightness.

With one hand on the doorknob, the dancer glanced back at him, head tilted. "Don't meet many guys who don't want a lap dance."

Zoro looked down at his hands, then back up. "It's just not me."

A crooked smile crossed the man's face. "It's a good look on you."

Zoro froze.

The dancer opened the door and disappeared into the hallway before Zoro could work out what the hell that was supposed to mean. The door clicked shut behind him.

Zoro sat there for several seconds. His face was hot again.

Slowly, he peeled his other hand away from the chair. His palms were damp enough that he wiped them against his thighs before flexing his fingers. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, only now noticing how tense he'd been holding himself.

He let out a long breath. He wasn't sure whether he felt relieved or even more embarrassed now that a lap dancer had taken pity on him.

Relieved. He was going with relieved.

Zoro waited two minutes. Then he waited for another one, just to make sure it looked convincing. When he finally returned to the main room, the full volume of the club hit him again the second he pushed through the curtain. Music thudded through the floor. Neon flashed across the crowd.

His coworkers spotted him immediately. Foxy started laughing. Kid lifted up his drink like a toast. Spandam leaned forward and began demanding details Zoro had absolutely no intention of giving him.

Zoro slid back into the booth, picked up his drink, and knocked back what remained of it. His ears were still warm. He refused to think about why. Instead, he signaled the waitress for another.

Tomorrow was Saturday. He'd taken an Uber.

He was getting hammered.

Zoro nursed his hangover through Saturday with a new samurai fiction book and his fish. Sunday, he cleaned his apartment and ran errands. The only time he looked at his phone was to ensure his alarm was set for Monday morning.

When Monday rolled around, he showered, dressed, and checked himself in the mirror. Dark brown shirt, pressed trousers, shined shoes. He combed his green hair neatly. His three gold drop earrings were a remnant of one very drunk night in college that he ended up liking and decided to keep. He’d also ended up with a tiny heart tattoo above the swell of his ass which embarrassed him to this day.

He smoothed his shirt down and adjusted his belt. His broad shoulders filled the shirt but didn’t taper at his waist. He ran a hand along his soft jaw and touched the edge of the scar bisecting his eye. He’d grown used to the look of it, though at times it made him uncomfortable when people stared.

Satisfied he looked presentable, he went to the kitchen to make his lunch, made sure he had everything in his bag, pocketed his wallet and phone, and left for work.

He took the subway at the end of his block to the warehouse district. He worked for a large international shipping and logistics company as a risk analyst. He spent most of his day reviewing things such as cargo losses, route disruptions, damaged shipments, insurance claims, warehouse incidents, vendor failures, and suspicious patterns in company data. Sometimes he'd figure out why a shipment repeatedly disappeared from one route; sometimes he'd determine whether an expensive accident was bad luck, employee error, or fraud.

He was good at it. He was practical, patient, observant, and good at stripping a problem down to facts. He didn’t need to put on charm or talk to a lot of people. He sat at his desk, investigated thoroughly, handed in a report, and moved on to the next task.

He’d been with the company since college. He came in through an internship and spent nearly four years building specialized knowledge. He was finally approaching a promotion to senior analyst. His pay was considerably better than what comparable entry-level positions elsewhere offered, his health insurance was excellent, he had a good retirement match, generous PTO, and the company covered certifications. And he actually liked the work.

As a result, his apartment was comfortable. His fish tanks were expensive. He had savings. His life was stable. In exchange, he had to put up with his asshole coworkers for four hours on Friday nights. He could survive four hours.

The company ran on “office culture” – meaning, if you weren’t a team player, you wouldn’t get promoted. That included going out for drinks with his coworkers, and sometimes his boss. It carried over into the office, too. People wandered between offices to gossip, took long lunches together, knew who had bought drinks for whom the weekend before, and seemed to remember exactly who had gone home early. Zoro believed his work should stand for itself, but he understood he had to put in face time to get ahead. He had absolutely nothing in common with his team, though, outside of drinking. The strip club on Friday night had been just one stop in a line of outings where Zoro drank too much and wished he could be at home.

Zoro got off at his stop and used his phone to navigate the walk to his office. A motorcycle accident when he was nineteen had left him with trouble wayfinding, even years later. His reconstructed ankles still gave him trouble, too, although today they were behaving themselves. 

The office sat in a row of similar-looking buildings along the edge of the warehouse district, close enough to the freight yards that delivery trucks were a constant presence on the surrounding streets. Most of the neighboring businesses were logistics companies, brokers, import firms, and smaller corporate offices attached to the larger distribution network farther down the road. Zoro's building was newer than the warehouses behind it, three stories of gray concrete, dark windows, and a narrow strip of landscaping out front that somebody paid to keep alive despite the traffic and exhaust.

He arrived at eight, cutting across the parking lot while a truck rumbled past toward one of the loading facilities nearby. The company name was mounted beside the glass entrance in brushed metal letters, understated compared to the sprawling warehouse signs farther down the block. Inside, the lobby was quiet and aggressively corporate – polished tile, gray walls, a reception desk, and framed photographs of container ships, freight terminals, and cargo planes lining the hallway toward the elevators.

Zoro barely glanced at any of it anymore. He scanned his badge at the security gate and headed upstairs.

He went straight to his office, half-shutting the door behind him before crossing to his desk. He stored his lunch in a desk drawer and hung his messenger bag over the back of his chair. After logging into his computer, he checked his calendar first. Meeting at nine. That gave him enough time to finish the report he'd been working on yesterday and send it to his supervisor, Lucci.

Zoro sat down and got to work. He checked the figures one more time, fixed two notes in the appendix, and lost track of the time while comparing the last of the carrier records.

By the time he looked at the clock again, most of the hour was gone. He finished the report, sent it off as an attachment, and still had ten minutes to kill before the meeting. He headed to the staff lounge for coffee and found Kid there, guzzling down a cup and looking slightly hungover.

"Rough night?" Zoro asked.

Kid hummed. "The best kind."

Zoro understood the sentiment more than he cared to admit. He’d had enough whiskey Friday night that Saturday morning had mostly consisted of painkillers, water, and waiting for his stomach to forgive him. He picked up a mug and waited for the Keurig to finish his cup.

The two of them headed for the conference room. It was one of the larger rooms on the floor, with a long polished table surrounded by high-backed chairs, a wall-mounted screen at one end, and a row of windows looking out over the parking lot and the warehouse roofs beyond. A speakerphone sat in the middle of the table beside a tray of bottled water and neatly stacked notepads. 

Foxy, Spandam, and Lucci were already there. Lucci's secretary, Kalifa, was present, too. So was their boss, Donquixote Doflamingo.

Doflamingo lounged at the conference table, wearing bright pink and red sunglasses perched low on his nose. He had that smarmy smile Zoro had never liked. Zoro didn't like the man much, either, but Doflamingo was the boss, so he maintained a polite expression as he took a seat. Doflamingo immediately gave him a languid look that made his skin crawl.

Foxy seemed to be in the middle of one of his usual weekend recaps. It became clear quickly that this one was about Zoro's lap dance Friday night. 

"You should've seen him blushing. You would've thought he'd never seen a pair of tits in his life," Foxy said. "We practically had to force the lap dance onto him."

Doflamingo looked amused. "Really? A forced lap dance?" His attention settled on Zoro. "Did you enjoy yourself, Roronoa?"

Zoro's fingers tightened around his coffee cup. He avoided Doflamingo's gaze. "It was whatever." It sucked that he could feel his ears heating from the attention directed at him.

Kid smacked him on the back. "Didn't know women liked a little potato with their meat."

Kid was built like a truck and didn't hesitate to show anyone his abs whenever the opportunity came up. His prosthetic arm hadn't stopped him from making sure his other bicep looked like a bowling ball whenever he flexed.

Zoro ignored the cutting remark and the sting along his shoulder where Kid had smacked him.

"Some people don't like to get a lap dance and tell," Doflamingo said. "I'm sure Roronoa got his money's worth."

"My money," Kid said.

"A lap dance using someone else's money." Doflamingo's smile widened slightly. "Hmm. I wonder what you'd do if I paid for it."

Zoro forced himself to stay still even though the comment made him uncomfortable.

Across the table, Spandam laughed. "Probably turn even redder."

Spandam was supposed to be reviewing the meeting packet in front of him, but he'd barely touched it. He'd spent most of the time before Lucci arrived talking to Doflamingo about a restaurant they'd apparently both been to and reminding him about some story from the last company Christmas party. At one point Spandam worked in a casual mention of the upcoming senior review, and Doflamingo told him to "keep making himself useful." Spandam looked pleased with that. Doflamingo knew exactly who Spandam was. Zoro doubted the man could've named half of Zoro's current projects. 

Lucci called the meeting to order, saving him from any further conversation.

The workweek passed with its usual routine. Zoro finished another investigation and started an analysis. By the time Friday rolled around, he was ready for the weekend and his fish. 

The office was never quiet. Closing his door all the way “cut him off” and was frowned upon as poor team-player etiquette. People stopped by Foxy's office often enough that Zoro could hear laughter two doors down. Kid wandered in and out of other people's offices when he got bored. Spandam seemed to spend more time talking about work than doing it. Zoro did his best to ignore the noise and keep his nose in his work. 

On Wednesday afternoon, Spandam appeared in the doorway. "Got a minute?"

Zoro looked at the spreadsheet covering one monitor and the carrier records on the other. "For what?" 

Spandam came in without waiting for an invitation and dropped into the chair across from Zoro's desk. "Lucci wants the quarterly vendor summaries by tomorrow." He adjusted one cuff and glanced toward Zoro's monitors. "Senior review's coming up, so apparently everything has to look perfect." 

"I know."

"I've got most of mine done." Spandam shifted in the chair. "You already finish North Blue?" 

“Yesterday."

"Can I see how you formatted the loss projections?"

Zoro looked over at him. "You want my report." 

Spandam smiled. “Just the format.”

"The template is on the shared drive."

"Yeah, but yours always looks better."

That wasn't the compliment Spandam apparently thought it was.

Zoro turned back to his computer. "Use the template."

Spandam sighed. "You could try being helpful once in a while."

"I am being helpful. I'm telling you where the template is."

Spandam stared at him for a second before standing. "This is why people think you're antisocial. People remember this stuff." 

Zoro looked over his shoulder. "Because I won't do your report?"

"I said I wanted the format."

"Shared drive."

Spandam rolled his eyes and left.

Five minutes later, Zoro heard him laughing with Foxy down the hall. He shook his head and went back to work.

Friday afternoon, Foxy appeared at Zoro's door to announce they were going out again. "You're riding with me this week. You know, you should really get a car." 

Foxy left before Zoro could say anything, but what was there to say? He already knew he'd go. He always went. Refusing would only turn into another conversation about attitude, morale, or being part of the team. 

First, though, he had to finish his analysis. By six, he'd closed out everything he needed for Monday, swallowed two painkillers for the dull ache settling into his ankles, and considered the bottle of whiskey waiting in his kitchen at home. 

He went out with his coworkers instead. 

They ended up back at the same strip club as the week before, much to Zoro's displeasure. Once again, he was wedged into a booth with three obnoxious men while a woman shook her ass in front of them.

Zoro ordered whiskey without looking at the drink menu.

It was inevitable that Foxy would bring up the lap dance again. Kid immediately started pressuring him into getting another one, and Spandam all but called him a chicken.

"You know what? Fine," Zoro said, standing.

The reaction was immediate. Foxy threw both hands up with a cheer. Kid slapped the table hard enough to make the glasses jump, grinning as though Zoro had just accepted some kind of challenge. Spandam leaned back with a smug little laugh and told him not to come back too quickly. Zoro didn't know why doing this pleased them so much, but apparently it did. 

Zoro turned and headed for the corridor where he'd been taken the previous week, supposedly for another lap dance.

When he reached the hallway, he looked at the closed doors with dread. Then he saw his salvation. At the far end of the corridor was a bright EXIT sign with a door beneath it. Zoro made a beeline for it. To his relief, the door wasn't alarmed. He pushed it open and stepped outside.

Cool night air hit his heated cheeks, and for the first time since they'd arrived, he felt as though he could breathe properly again. Zoro made sure the door didn't close all the way before leaning against the alley wall and shutting his eye. He only needed to stay out here for ten minutes, then he could go back inside and claim he'd gotten the lap dance.

The smell of cigarette smoke caught his attention. Zoro's nose wrinkled as he opened his eye and turned his head.

The blond who'd given him the lap dance the week before was standing farther down the alley, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. Tonight, he wore a club T-shirt over a pair of fitted jeans.

He looked amused when he noticed Zoro. "Hiding from another lap dance?"

Zoro's mouth curled ruefully. "Yeah, actually. I am."

The man laughed. "Good to know you're consistent."

Zoro gestured toward his clothes. "You're not dancing tonight?"

"Bartending." He took another drag from his cigarette. "My schedule rotates between lap dances and the bar."

Zoro nodded.

"What about you?" the man asked. "What do you do that drags you out here for a 'work thing' involving a lap dance you don't even want?"

"Risk analysis," Zoro said.

The blond stared at him. "I have no idea what that is."

"I look at potential problems for the company and figure out how likely they are to happen, how much damage they could cause, and what we can do about them. Fraud, shipping losses, bad vendors, accidents, supply problems. Depends on the case."

The man studied him, visibly amused by how much more easily the explanation came out. "Sounds like you like your job."

"I do." Zoro glanced toward the door to the club. "Except for certain parts."

"Why don't you just stop coming if you hate this?"

Zoro grimaced. "Would be nice, but if I want a promotion, I have to show I'm part of the team."

"By going somewhere completely uncomfortable for you, with people who don't give a shit whether you're comfortable?"

Zoro shrugged. "It is what it is."

The man took another drag from his cigarette. "Sounds like shitty coworkers."

Zoro couldn't really argue with that.

The blond glanced toward him. "Well, my alley is your alley."

Zoro gave him a faintly amused look.

"I'm Sanji, by the way."

"Zoro." He checked his watch. "I should probably get back inside."

Sanji laughed. "Good luck."

Zoro gave him a faint smile, then pulled the door open and went back in.

It was Wednesday, and Zoro was deep into an analysis of a series of damaged freight claims when someone spoke very close to his shoulder.

"Working hard, aren't you?"

Zoro straightened with a jerk, nearly bumping into Doflamingo, who only laughed and leaned against the side of his desk.

Zoro hadn't heard his office door open. He usually kept it half-shut precisely to discourage people from wandering in, although that had never really worked.

"Sorry, sir. I didn't hear you come in," Zoro said quickly, smoothing a hand over the front of his shirt.

"It's all right. I like seeing my worker bees hard at work."

Zoro nodded slightly. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Foxy mentioned you went to the strip club again Friday night," Doflamingo said. "Got another lap dance."

Zoro needed to slap duct tape over Foxy's mouth. Instead, he nodded. "I did."

"Tell me the details." Doflamingo's grin widened. "Was she hot?"

Zoro shifted slightly in his chair. "It wasn't a she."

"Oh?" Doflamingo's interest sharpened. "Good information to have."

Zoro immediately regretted saying anything.

"So tell me," Doflamingo continued. "Was he hot?"

"I guess." His mind went immediately to Sanji. Blond hair falling over one eye. The neat goatee emphasizing his mouth. How he'd looked in those compression shorts, and then somehow just as good in a T-shirt and jeans in the alley.

Doflamingo leaned a little closer, grin still in place. "Did he make you chub?"

Heat rushed into Zoro's face. "No," he said, trying not to sound defensive.

"Must not have been that good of a dancer, then." Doflamingo pushed his sunglasses farther up his nose. "Maybe next time I'll set you up with one of my private dancers. See if we can fix that problem."

Zoro had absolutely no idea what to say to that. "Thank you?" he finally managed.

Doflamingo laughed and pushed away from the desk. "I'll let you get back to work. See you around, Roronoa."

Then he left Zoro's office.

Zoro took a deep breath, held it for a second, then let it out slowly. He hated when Doflamingo singled him out. It didn't happen often because Doflamingo wasn't in the office very much, but whenever he was around, people behaved differently. Doors stayed open. Foxy found reasons to pass through the hall. Spandam seemed to materialize wherever Doflamingo happened to be. Zoro mostly tried to stay out of the way.

Doflamingo hadn't paid much attention to him before the strip-club story. Zoro preferred it that way. Now he found himself watching for that pink coat in the hallway and wondering when the man's attention would land on him again.

He pushed the thought aside and turned back to his work.

Zoro's coworkers picked karaoke for their next outing, and Zoro relaxed a little. They'd done karaoke before. The place was one of the usual ones they went to, with private rooms off a narrow hallway, vinyl couches wrapped around three walls, a low table already crowded with menus and drink glasses, and a large screen mounted opposite the karaoke machine. It was loud without being public. Whatever happened in here stayed mostly behind a closed door, which made it considerably easier to tolerate than the strip club.

Zoro always sang "Mony Mony" by Billy Idol because everybody liked shouting the dirty chant between lyrics, which meant nobody paid much attention to him. He couldn't sing anyway, and it was an easy enough song to mumble his way through. He took his turn early, standing near the screen with the microphone held too low while Foxy and Kid supplied most of the volume from the couch. By the time the song ended, nobody cared that he'd barely carried the tune.

He handed off the microphone and dropped back onto the couch. His shirt pulled across his stomach when he sat, the buttons lying tight over the soft weight at his middle. Zoro tugged the hem down automatically before reaching for his drink. The movement pulled one trouser leg slightly higher, exposing the edge of the pale surgical scarring above his ankle before the fabric settled again. His feet already ached from the workday and the walk from the station, although sitting helped. 

Once he'd done his song, he could usually sit back and drink for the rest of the night. Sometimes he drank enough to get talked into a second one. His doctor had warned him about overdoing it, though, both because of how much he drank and because alcohol tended to become his answer whenever his ankles hurt or his coworkers got on his nerves. Zoro had nodded through the lecture at his last physical and then gone home and poured himself whiskey that same night.

He tried not to get drunk every time they went out. Tonight, though, he needed it. Doflamingo had come with them.

Zoro had known Doflamingo was joining them before they even left the office. Foxy had announced it with obvious enthusiasm sometime around four, and Spandam had immediately started talking about upgrading the room reservation. Zoro had considered claiming a headache. Then he'd remembered the promotion and how much the company cared about showing up for these things, and gone anyway. 

Now Doflamingo sat right beside him on the couch. There had been plenty of other seats when they came in. Doflamingo had chosen that one.

Zoro took another drink.

Their thighs touched whenever either of them shifted. Doflamingo was sprawled comfortably into the corner of the couch, one arm stretched along the backrest while he watched Kid butcher an eighties rock song. Every so often, his hand dropped from the back of the couch and landed on Zoro's leg.

The first time, it rested briefly on his knee.

Zoro looked down at it, then at Doflamingo. Doflamingo didn't seem to notice. He was laughing at something Foxy shouted toward the television.

The hand disappeared.

Zoro told himself that was all it had been.

It came back during the next song. This time Doflamingo's palm landed a few inches above his knee.

Zoro's shoulders tightened. He lifted his whiskey and drank enough that the ice clicked against his teeth.

By the third time, Doflamingo's fingers had settled against the inside of his thigh.

Zoro went completely still.

His face felt hot. The warmth crawled up beneath the collar of his shirt and into his ears, and he stared at the lyrics crawling across the screen even though he had no idea what song was playing anymore.

He was mortified.

He had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. Slapping Doflamingo's hand away would turn it into a scene. Moving seats would be obvious. Saying something directly meant telling one of the owners of the company to stop touching him. Zoro was already trying to prove he belonged with the rest of the team, and Doflamingo had a say in who got promoted. 

A hand on his leg wasn't going to kill him.

Zoro lifted the glass and swallowed until the whiskey burned down his throat. 

The hand eventually moved away.

He finished the whiskey and poured himself more from the bottle on the table.

By the time Foxy took the microphone for a love song, Zoro had lost track of whether he was on his fifth drink or his sixth. The room had softened slightly at the edges, enough that Doflamingo sitting beside him bothered him less than it had twenty minutes earlier. That was probably a bad sign. Zoro decided he'd worry about it tomorrow.

Foxy warbled his way through the first verse while Spandam and Kid hooted from the couches.

"Put some feeling into it!" Kid shouted.

Spandam made an exaggerated kissing noise. Foxy flipped them off without missing the next line, which only made them louder.

Zoro watched all three of them. He tried to understand what was supposed to be fun about that and couldn't. What was the point? Just making the other guy feel bad?

Foxy didn't seem bothered. He laughed through part of the chorus and deliberately sang worse, which earned another round of shouting. Maybe that was why they all liked each other. They understood whatever rules governed this stuff. Zoro didn't.

Doflamingo's hand returned to his thigh.

Zoro reached for his glass.

He woke Saturday morning on his couch with his neck bent at an angle that immediately hurt. Zoro groaned and opened his eye.

The living room was dim except for the aquarium lights. His largest tank occupied most of one wall, a long planted setup with dark substrate, driftwood, broad green leaves, and small schools of fish moving through the stems. A second tank sat on a sturdy cabinet near the window, smaller and more heavily planted, with a single betta slowly patrolling the front glass. Their filters provided the only sound in the apartment besides the faint hum of the refrigerator.

Zoro stayed where he was for another minute. His head hurt. His mouth tasted terrible. One ankle throbbed where he'd apparently fallen asleep with his foot twisted against the edge of the coffee table. There was an empty whiskey glass beside him.

He stared at it. He vaguely remembered getting home from karaoke, feeding the fish, changing out of his work clothes, and deciding he needed another drink before bed.

Apparently he'd never made it to bed.

Zoro rubbed both hands over his face, then sat forward carefully. He'd changed into an old T-shirt and sleep shorts. The shirt had ridden up while he slept, bunching above the soft curve of his stomach. His bare lower legs showed the pale surgical scarring around both ankles and climbing partway up his calves. 

He pulled the shirt back down, then stretched one leg out in front of him. The movement drew the fabric across his chest, briefly outlining the old scar cutting over one side of it beneath the thin cotton. He was broad through the shoulders and thick through the legs, with a soft chest, a little extra weight around his waist, and a belly that rounded more noticeably when he sat. He didn't usually care. His doctor cared more than he did, mostly because of the drinking.

Doflamingo's hand on his thigh came back to him in irritatingly clear detail.

Zoro eyed the glass on the table. He could deal with it. He'd dealt with worse things than an obnoxious boss getting handsy. 

Zoro pushed himself to his feet, bracing one hand on the arm of the couch until both ankles accepted his weight. The scars around them pulled pale against the skin as he flexed his feet. They'd healed well enough that most people never noticed anything was wrong unless Zoro had been standing too long, walked too far, or slept with one bent at a stupid angle.

This morning qualified. He limped toward the kitchen. Water. Painkillers. Whatever food required the least amount of effort. He spent most of the day recovering on the couch, reading between bouts of tank maintenance and trying not to think about how much he'd drunk the night before.

He wasn't going to spend his entire weekend thinking about Doflamingo.

He made it until that evening, then he poured another whiskey and sat in front of the fish tank.

Monday passed without Doflamingo coming anywhere near Zoro's office.

Zoro saw him once in the hallway Tuesday morning. Doflamingo was talking to Lucci and stopped long enough to say, "Morning, Roronoa. That freight analysis coming along?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Then Doflamingo went back to his conversation. That was it.

Later that afternoon, Zoro heard Doflamingo's voice outside again. He glanced up and saw him standing in Spandam's doorway.

Spandam had pushed back from his desk and was talking animatedly about the quarterly vendor summaries. Zoro couldn't hear all of it from where he sat, but he caught something about senior review and making sure his numbers were "presentation-ready."

Doflamingo laughed. "That's what I like to hear.”

Spandam grinned. “I’m always available when there’s a chance to move up.” 

They stayed there talking for several more minutes before Doflamingo moved on.

Zoro looked back at his monitors. Spandam had spent part of the previous week asking to see Zoro's report because his own apparently needed help looking presentable, but Doflamingo wouldn't know that. What he saw was Spandam making an effort.

By Wednesday afternoon, Zoro had started wondering whether he'd made too much of the karaoke night. Doflamingo had been drinking. Maybe the hand on his leg had been exactly what Zoro had originally tried to convince himself it was – an overly familiar boss who didn't have much sense of personal space. The comments afterward had been crude, but half the men Zoro worked with seemed incapable of having a normal conversation once sex came up.

Then Thursday arrived, and Doflamingo started coming into his office again. Sometimes he'd stand too close while looking over Zoro's shoulder, one hand braced against the desk while Zoro tried to concentrate on whatever was open on his monitors. Sometimes his hand would land briefly on the back of Zoro's neck before he left. He kept saying things that made Zoro uncomfortable, too – comments about his clothes, his body, what he'd done over the weekend. Always casual enough, but it set Zoro’s teeth on edge.

By the following week, Zoro had stopped expecting Doflamingo to lose interest. Instead, he started paying attention to where the man was. If he heard Doflamingo talking near the staff lounge, Zoro waited to get coffee. If that pink coat appeared at the far end of the hallway, he found a reason to leave his desk and be elsewhere. He kept his office door as far closed as office etiquette allowed, although that did very little when Doflamingo wanted to come in.

Foxy found reasons to wander past whenever Doflamingo was around. Spandam seemed to spend more time in the hallway than at his desk, always ready with something to say. People laughed louder when Doflamingo joined a conversation and lingered longer when he stopped near their offices. Zoro tried to do the opposite. He kept his head down and worked.

The worst came Friday. Zoro was deep into his current project, spreadsheets open across both monitors and handwritten notes spread over his desk. He could hear laughter and conversation outside his office, the usual nonsense that seemed to happen whenever people decided work was a social event. Zoro had never understood it. He came to work to do work.

He heard footsteps enter his office and immediately knew who it was. His body tensed. Zoro gritted his teeth and kept working. Maybe if he ignored Doflamingo, the man would get the hint and leave him alone.

He didn't.

Doflamingo perched on the edge of Zoro's desk and glanced down at his work. "I hear you're going to that strip club again tonight."

That was news to Zoro, but he usually went wherever the others decided on. "Yes, sir."

"I think I might tag along." Doflamingo smiled. "I could use a good lap dance. Preferably someone with a little extra cushion for the pushin'."

Zoro kept his attention on his monitor. He could feel Doflamingo looking at him.

"Someone like you," Doflamingo continued. "I always enjoy seeing some jiggle when someone's writhing on my cock."

Zoro's mouth went dry. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"That's nice, sir," he managed.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Zoro went still.

Doflamingo's hand drifted downward, passing over the front of Zoro's shoulder and briefly pressing against the swell of his chest before sliding away. The contact lasted only a second, brief enough that Doflamingo could probably claim he'd simply moved his hand wrong.

Zoro stared at the spreadsheet on his screen. One of the cells blurred because he'd been looking at it without reading the number.

"Yeah," Doflamingo said. "I like them a little more plush."

Zoro's fingers curled against the edge of his desk.

"We should have fun tonight," Doflamingo said with a smirk.

He pushed off the desk and left the office.

Zoro stayed frozen in his chair. For several seconds, he stared blankly at the numbers on his monitor without taking any of them in. Then he swallowed against the tightness in his throat, drew a slow breath, and went back to work.

He lasted almost ten minutes before opening the bottom drawer of his desk and looking at the small bottle of painkillers inside. Beside it was a pack of gum and a miniature bottle of whiskey Kid had given him as a joke months ago.

Zoro shut the drawer again. He could wait until after work.

At six, Zoro caught a ride to the club with Kid. It took around forty-five minutes to get there, and Kid spent almost the entire drive describing a woman he'd hooked up with earlier in the week in far too much detail. Traffic crawled through the busier part of the city while neon signs and headlights slid across the windows. Zoro watched them instead of Kid and did everything in his power to avoid telling him to shut the fuck up.

It wasn't a secret that Zoro was gay, but he didn't go out of his way to announce it, either. He doubted saying anything would stop Kid anyway. Kid liked hearing himself talk.

When they reached the club, Zoro followed him inside. The first person he saw at the booth where the others had gathered was Doflamingo, sprawled across one side with a leg stretched out and that same smarmy grin on his face. Purple light caught along the edges of his glasses as he turned toward them.

Zoro stopped.

Doflamingo smiled wider.

Zoro took one look at him, then glanced at Kid. "I'm going for that lap dance."

Kid blinked. "Already?"

Before he could say anything else, Zoro made a beeline toward the back of the club.

He took a wrong turn first and found himself in a small staff break room with a microwave, a dented refrigerator, and two people eating takeout at a folding table. Both looked up at him.

"Sorry," he said. He immediately turned around, tried another hallway, and finally spotted the EXIT sign above a door at the far end. He went straight for it.

The door opened into the alley. Zoro checked that it wouldn't lock behind him, wedging a small rock near the bottom so it couldn't close completely.

Cool night air hit his face. The music became a muted pulse through the brick wall behind him. Zoro put a few feet between himself and the door before stopping, then stood there until the tension in his chest eased. 

The door opened again less than a minute later. Zoro straightened, startled, then relaxed when he saw Sanji.

Sanji wore the same short compression shorts Zoro remembered from the lap dance, along with ankle boots and a jacket thrown loosely over his bare chest. For a second, Zoro forgot what he'd been thinking about.

Sanji looked very good.

Zoro shook it off. Now was not the time or place for that.

Sanji tilted his head when he saw him. "Saw you book it for the door when I came out of a room. Still hiding from lap dances?"

"Hiding from one of my bosses this time," Zoro said.

Sanji walked over and leaned against the wall beside him. He pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. "Mind if I smoke?"

Zoro shrugged. "Doesn't bother me."

He didn't particularly like the smell, but they were outside. Sanji lit up, took a deep drag, then turned his head and blew the smoke away from Zoro.

"So what got you out here that fast?" Sanji asked. "You said something about your boss."

Zoro's jaw tightened. "One of the owners of the company is here. He's been hitting on me for the past couple weeks." He looked toward the door. "I really don't want to deal with him tonight."

Sanji's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"One of those promotion-on-your-back situations?"

"I don't know."

"But you don't want him."

"No." Zoro frowned. "He's not my type."

"Have you told him that?" Sanji asked.

"He's my boss."

Sanji took another drag. "What about HR?"

"He's one of the owners," Zoro said.

"Ah."

"And I really like my job."

Sanji exhaled slowly. "Sounds like you're in a hell of a situation."

"Pretty much."

"You've got three choices, then." Sanji counted them off on his fingers. "Quit, report him if he crosses the line, or give him what he wants."

Zoro grimaced. "He hasn't really crossed a line."

Sanji gave him a skeptical look.

"I mean something I could actually prove," Zoro clarified. "He says things, but half the guys at work say crude shit about people. He's just started directing more of it at me."

He remembered Doflamingo's hand sliding across his chest earlier that afternoon.

"I guess he likes men who are a little overweight," Zoro added. "I just happen to fit the description."

Sanji's gaze traveled over him from head to toe. "I can understand the attraction."

Heat climbed straight into Zoro's ears and along the back of his neck. Coming from Sanji, it actually sounded like a compliment.

Zoro looked away. "I spent too much time in PT and OT after my accident to want to spend my free time in a gym. Plus, my ankles are shot. I'm lucky I can still walk normally."

"That where you got the scar?" Sanji gestured toward his own eye.

"Yeah. Bike accident. Truck hit me."

Sanji winced. "Since you're still walking and talking, I'm guessing you came out of it mostly okay?"

"Everything still works." Zoro's mouth crooked into a small grin. "Mostly. I'm not as pretty as I used to be, but I can still pull sometimes at a bathhouse."

It wasn't as though Zoro went to gay bathhouses constantly, but he still liked sex. Every once in a while, he went. Sex itself had never been the problem. Being put on the spot in front of people and expected to act interested for their amusement was something else entirely.

Sanji looked at him over the cigarette between his fingers. "I must be going to the wrong bathhouses."

It was blatant flirting.

Zoro felt his neck heat again. He looked toward the opposite wall, but caught the flash of Sanji's grin from the corner of his eye.

Sanji didn't say anything more.

For a few seconds, they stood there in silence. The muffled bass from inside vibrated faintly through the wall. Sanji smoked. Zoro watched a car pass across the mouth of the alley.

"If I had my choice," Zoro said eventually, "I'd just stay home instead of going out with them. Or if they actually liked the same things I do, maybe we'd go to dinner. A museum. Something where I could hear myself think."

Sanji's lips curved. "Quiet type, huh?"

"Somewhat." Zoro shrugged. "I just like what I like."

"What kind of museum?"

Zoro glanced at him. He hadn't expected the question. "Natural history, mostly. Maritime stuff. Aquariums."

Sanji's expression changed slightly. "Aquariums?"

Zoro glanced at him. "Yeah."

"I like aquariums."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Sanji took another drag from his cigarette. "Fish are kind of my thing."

Zoro looked more interested now. "I have two tanks at home."

Sanji's eyebrows lifted. "Freshwater or salt?"

"Freshwater."

"What do you keep?"

"One planted community tank. Tetras, rasboras, a few corys. The other one's just a betta."

Sanji nodded as though this was suddenly a much more serious conversation. "You ever keep saltwater?"

"Too much work."

"Coward."

Zoro snorted. "You volunteering to maintain it?"

"Absolutely not. I just like looking at them."

"Then freshwater's better."

"Wrong."

Zoro's mouth twitched. "You don’t get an opinion if you don’t own a tank." 

Sanji grinned. “I don’t need one to know saltwater wins.” 

For the first time since they'd come outside, Zoro forgot to think about Doflamingo.

“You’d change your mind after maintaining one,” Zoro said.

“You really hate saltwater tanks that much?”

“Fish are supposed to be relaxing, not another job.”

Sanji huffed a laugh. “Fair enough. You want your fish to lower your blood pressure, not raise it.” 

Zoro looked smug. “Exactly.”

“Still think saltwater wins.” 

Zoro snorted, still smiling faintly. He checked his watch and frowned. He'd already been outside longer than he'd planned. "I should probably go back inside."

Sanji nodded, then asked, "Do you know what you're going to do about your boss?"

Zoro took a deep breath and let it out. "No. Guess I'll play it by ear."

"Well, you can always have a second lap dance." Sanji lifted the cigarette to his mouth. "If you get really uncomfortable, tell them you're hooking up with the dancer. I don't mind being your knight in booty shorts."

Zoro snorted a soft laugh. "I got it, but thanks."

"Offer stands."

Zoro tilted his head in acknowledgment, took another breath, then pulled open the door and went back inside.

He managed to avoid sitting beside Doflamingo when he returned to the group. There was an open space near Kid at the other end of the booth, and Zoro took it before anyone could suggest otherwise. He ordered a whiskey and ignored the ribbing he got from Spandam and Kid about how long his supposed lap dance had taken.

The drink arrived. Zoro took a swallow before he'd even set the glass properly on the table.

He kept thinking about what Sanji had said.

Quit. Report Doflamingo. Give him what he wanted.

The last option wasn't happening if Zoro could help it.

Zoro doubted reporting him would accomplish much when Doflamingo was one of the owners of the company, which seemed to leave quitting.

Except quitting wasn't as simple as handing in a resignation letter. His salary paid for his life. He couldn't leave until he had another job lined up, and he was close to making senior analyst. Getting that title would make finding another position easier, especially when so many openings wanted applicants with several years of experience.

Zoro had been working there since he was twenty-one and still in college. He knew the job. He knew the company. He knew his commute well enough that he could make it without getting lost, and the office was close to the subway. His health insurance covered the periodic appointments he still needed for his ankles, and his pay left him enough to save after rent, bills, groceries, and everything he spent maintaining the fish tanks.

There was surprisingly a lot to consider for something that should have been simple.

Did he want Doflamingo's attention? Absolutely not. Maybe he could bring it up with Lucci indirectly. Lucci might be able to run interference without turning it into an official complaint. Then again, Doflamingo was Lucci's boss, too.

Zoro finished his whiskey. When the waitress passed again, he ordered another. He'd put the problem aside for now. He only needed to get through tonight. He could worry about everything else another day.

Zoro knocked once on Lucci's open office door and stepped inside with the report in hand.

Lucci looked up from his computer. "Finished?"

"Yeah." Zoro crossed the room and handed it over. "The vendor losses weren't random. Three of the claims came through the same distribution center, and the paperwork was altered after the original inspections. I flagged the accounts and added the supporting documents in the appendix."

Lucci opened the report and scanned the first page. "You confirmed the dates?"

"Twice."

"And the shipment records?"

"Matched them against the carrier logs."

Lucci gave a small nod and continued reading. Zoro stayed where he was, expecting another question about the report. He'd spent most of the morning checking the supporting documents one last time before bringing it over and was already mentally moving on to the analysis waiting on his computer.

Instead, Lucci set the report down. "Sit for a minute."

Zoro glanced at the chair across from the desk, then sat.

Lucci leaned back slightly. "It has come to my attention that you haven't been much of a team player lately."

Zoro stared at him. Of all the things he'd expected to hear, that hadn't been one of them.

"You know Spandam is up for the same promotion you are."

That caught him off guard. Spandam? Spandam spent half his day wandering between offices, not actually working. "Shouldn't the work matter?" Zoro asked.

"It does." Lucci folded his hands on the desk. "I wish it was the only thing that mattered. Your work is impeccable, Roronoa, but that's simply not how things are done at this company."

Zoro's jaw tightened.

Outside Lucci's office, someone laughed in the hallway. A few seconds later another voice joined in. Zoro recognized Foxy's without even trying.

"I can give you my recommendation," Lucci continued. "And I intend to. But I don't have the final say."

Zoro already knew who did. For a second, he considered keeping the question to himself. Then he asked anyway. "Was it Mr. Donquixote who mentioned I wasn't being enough of a team player?"

Lucci nodded. "Yes. He's the one who brought it up. He's been disappointed by your lack of willingness to participate in extracurricular activities."

Zoro sat very still. So going out every Friday apparently wasn't enough. Karaoke. The strip club. Dinners that dragged hours past the point anyone had finished eating. Drinking because it made the whole thing easier to tolerate. 

Lucci went on, unaware of the direction Zoro's thoughts had taken. "Attending is part of it. Actually participating is another. You tend to keep to yourself when you're out with the others."

"I go. Every week."

"I know that." Lucci's tone stayed even. "I'm telling you how it's being perceived."

Zoro looked down at the copy of the report he'd brought with him. He'd always thought showing up was the important part. Apparently he was supposed to enjoy himself convincingly, too. "I understand."

There didn't seem to be much else he could say.

Lucci studied him for a moment. "You're good at what you do. But senior analysts work with more than reports. Management wants people who can maintain relationships inside the department, work comfortably with other teams, represent the company when necessary."

"I work fine with people."

"I didn't say you don't."

Zoro's fingers tightened against his trouser leg.

Lucci continued, "But there is a difference between being able to work with people and being seen as part of the group."

There it was again. Being seen.

Zoro nodded once. "Is there anything else?" 

"No, that was all.” Lucci picked up the report and glanced at the first page. “This is excellent work, by the way. Your reports always are." Lucci looked back at him. "I wish I could say the same for everyone working here."

The compliment should have felt good. It didn't.

"Thanks."

Lucci dismissed him, and Zoro returned to his office. On the way, he passed Spandam leaning against Foxy's doorway with a coffee in hand. Neither of them had a document or laptop anywhere nearby.

Spandam laughed at something Foxy said.

Zoro kept walking.

He shut his office door behind him, crossed to his desk, and sat down. His computer screen was still open to the analysis he'd been working on before the meeting. The columns and figures blurred. A heavy knot settled in his stomach.

He'd done everything he was supposed to do. His work was good. Lucci had just said so. He'd spent three years treating Friday nights as another part of the job. Drinks. Restaurants. Karaoke. Clubs. Hangovers that ate half his Saturdays. 

Yet somehow it still wasn't enough.

The next time Doflamingo came into Zoro's office, Zoro's palms immediately started to sweat.

Doflamingo leaned against the edge of his desk, as he usually did, and his hand crossed briefly over the back of Zoro's neck. The touch could've passed for friendliness if anyone else saw it, but it sent a chill through Zoro. He wet his lips and tried not to acknowledge it, keeping his attention on his computer.

"What are you working on?" Doflamingo asked casually.

"Vendor risk analysis. I'm comparing loss reports against the last two quarters and checking whether any of the contracts need to be reassessed."

"Sounds complicated." Doflamingo glanced over the spreadsheets. "Maybe you'd like to take a break."

Zoro stilled. "I have a lot of work to do."

"Come now, Roronoa. A little break won't hurt you."

Zoro hesitated, discomfort tightening through him. Lucci's warning from earlier in the week came back immediately. Attending wasn't enough. He had to participate. He had to be seen as part of the group. Doflamingo had been the one to complain about him in the first place. "I suppose I could get some coffee from the break room."

"I have a better idea." Doflamingo smiled. "You're coming with me."

"Where?"

"It's more fun if it's a surprise."

Zoro stared at him for a moment before reluctantly logging out of his computer. He stood, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and slid it on.

Doflamingo looked pleased. "That's a good boy. Let's go."

Zoro bit his tongue. He was supposed to be more of a team player. Maybe this was exactly what Lucci had meant, even if Zoro couldn't see how disappearing with one of the owners in the middle of the workday had anything to do with being good at his job. 

"Anyone else coming?" Zoro asked.

"They're busy." Doflamingo opened the office door. "I'll have you all to myself."

Zoro almost stopped, but instead kept going.

They crossed the building and headed into the parking lot. Doflamingo's car chirped when he unlocked it, a sleek muscle car that looked expensive enough that Zoro didn't want to guess what it had cost.

Doflamingo gestured toward the passenger side. "Get in."

Zoro hesitated again, remembered the promotion, and climbed into the car.

Doflamingo pulled out of the lot and onto the street. Low music played through the speakers, heavy with bass and a slow rhythm that vibrated faintly through the seat. Zoro watched out the window instead of trying to make conversation.

The office sat near the warehouse district, surrounded by long concrete buildings, loading bays, fenced storage yards, and delivery trucks pulling in and out of narrow drives. By the time they moved toward the busier commercial streets, the warehouses had given way to older brick storefronts, convenience stores, restaurants, bars, and apartment buildings stacked close together. The afternoon sun hit the windows at an angle and flashed directly into Zoro's eye whenever they passed a gap between buildings.

He lost track of where they were after the first couple turns. It wasn't especially unusual. Doflamingo didn't make conversation, either, which Zoro was grateful for. He still had no idea why he was in the car, and every possibility he came up with made him less comfortable than the last.

Then Doflamingo pulled up outside the strip club Zoro's coworkers had been frequenting. Zoro stared at the building for a second before getting out.

They went inside, and Doflamingo led him toward one of the curved booths near the stages. The club was quieter in the afternoon than it was at night, although the music still played and several dancers worked the room. Without the Friday-night crowd, there was more open floor between the tables and fewer voices competing with the music. It somehow made Zoro more aware of where he was rather than less.

Doflamingo ordered drinks before Zoro had settled into the booth. Then he sat close. 

Too close.

Zoro shifted slightly toward the other side of the curved seat.

"I thought I'd give you an informal evaluation," Doflamingo said, picking up the drink he'd ordered.

Zoro looked at him. "An evaluation."

"Exactly." Doflamingo's hand settled on Zoro's thigh.

Zoro went rigid.

The hand moved upward.

"Thought I'd determine whether my risk analyst has any risk in him," Doflamingo said. His palm closed over Zoro's crotch.

Zoro jerked back hard enough that his shoulder hit the booth. His first instinct was simply to get away. "I need to use the restroom."

Doflamingo chuckled. "Go ahead."

Zoro got up before he could change his mind and headed toward the back hallway. He passed the bathrooms. Kept going. The EXIT sign at the end of the corridor might've been the best thing he'd seen all day.

Zoro shoved the door open and stepped into the alley.

The afternoon air was cooler than the club, and the sudden lack of music made the ringing in his ears more noticeable. Zoro planted both hands against the brick wall for a second and lowered his head. His heart was beating too fast. He stayed there until his breathing slowed.

The door opened again less than a minute later, and Zoro glanced over to find Sanji stepping outside in a black club T-shirt and fitted jeans, a bar towel tucked through his waistband.

"Fancy meeting you here again," Sanji said.

"You saw me leave," Zoro surmised.

"Guilty." Sanji leaned back against the wall beside him. "In quite a hurry, too. Was that the boss?"

"Yeah."

"The one you're supposed to sleep with?"

Zoro's fingers curled against his palm. "I don't want to sleep with him."

"Yeah, but you're here with him."

"I know."

Sanji studied him for a moment. "Want me to cause a scene?"

Zoro glanced at him questioningly.

"I can play jealous boyfriend."

A short laugh escaped Zoro. "I should be able to get myself out of this. I'm twenty-five. I could just say no."

"You could."

Zoro lightly bumped the back of his head against the brick wall. It was irritating how simple it should be. He could say no. Nobody was physically keeping him in the booth. Nobody had locked the door behind him or threatened him outright. He could walk back inside, tell Doflamingo to keep his hands to himself, call an Uber, and go home.

Then Monday would happen.

After a moment, Zoro asked, "Have you ever slept with your boss?"

Sanji snorted. "I slept with practically everybody at the restaurant I worked at," he said. "I was also high on coke ninety percent of the time, so let's just say I'm not the person to ask for advice on good decision-making."

Zoro turned his head toward him. "That's why you work here now?"

"Yeah. Quit the industry, got clean, knew somebody here who said they were hiring." Sanji shrugged. "I've been here two years now. Two years sober."

"You like it?"

Sanji glanced at him. "Being sober?"

"Working here."

That seemed to surprise him. "Most people assume I'm between things," Sanji said. "Usually they ask when I'm going to get a different job."

He tilted his head and looked up at the afternoon sky. "Yeah. I like bartending. Dancing doesn't bother me, either. It's easy money for very little effort most nights. Sometimes I have to slap away a wandering hand, but we've got good security for that."

"Wish we had that kind of security where I work," Zoro said.

Sanji looked at him. "Offer still stands. I make a very convincing jealous boyfriend."

"Maybe." Zoro's mouth twitched. "I'll let you know."

"Just order an angel shot," Sanji told him. "I'll know to come over."

"I'll remember that." He looked toward the door, then back at Sanji. "Thanks."

Sanji gave him a small smile. "You got this."

Zoro took another breath and went back inside.

He felt better. Talking to Sanji hadn't solved anything with Doflamingo. Zoro still had to walk back into the club and sit across from the man who'd just grabbed him. But at least he knew there was someone in the building who'd help if he needed it.

He returned to the main room and deliberately sat on the opposite side of the curved booth.

"You were gone for a while," Doflamingo commented. "Should I be worried?"

Zoro shook his head.

Doflamingo pointed toward a drink sitting near him. "I ordered you another."

"Thanks." Zoro reached across the table to retrieve it. The whiskey burned pleasantly on the way down.

Doflamingo settled farther back in the booth and spread both arms across the backrest while a male dancer moved on the nearby stage. "Shall we get back to your evaluation?"

"If you'd like." Zoro took another drink. "I think my work speaks for itself."

"I prefer to be a little more hands-on when it comes to my evaluations."

Zoro's shoulders crept upward. "I'm not really into hands-on evaluations."

"Are you sure about that?" Doflamingo smirked. "I promote from within, Roronoa. Especially people who are open to positions I'd like to fill."

Zoro wasn't naive. The double entendre was obvious. More importantly, so was the offer underneath it. His fingers tightened around his glass.

"I'd rather my work speak for itself," he repeated.

Doflamingo hummed. "Pity. I would've enjoyed seeing you in my spreadsheets."

He raised a hand and signaled for a waitress. When she came over, he ordered another drink for himself and another for Zoro. "Looks like we'll be here awhile. Keep them coming."

She nodded and walked away.

Zoro looked across the booth at him. For one uncomfortable moment, he actually considered giving in. It was sex. That was all.

Zoro wasn't inexperienced. He'd slept with men he barely knew before, sometimes because he wanted company, sometimes because he wanted to get laid, and sometimes because it seemed like a decent way to spend an evening. Sex itself wasn't some precious thing he needed to protect.

Doflamingo was obviously attracted to him. Zoro wasn't attracted to Doflamingo, but attraction had never been a strict requirement for every hookup he'd had.

One night. Maybe two. If that was all Doflamingo wanted, Zoro could probably tolerate it.

And if it guaranteed the promotion?

Senior analyst meant better pay. Better experience on his CV. More options if he decided to leave later. It meant the last few years of putting up with Friday nights and hangovers and people he didn't particularly like had actually led somewhere.

Zoro turned his glass slowly between his fingers. The problem was that he had no reason to believe it would stop at one night. If he slept with Doflamingo for the promotion, then Doflamingo would know exactly what worked.

The next project.

The next raise.

The next time Doflamingo wanted something.

And Zoro would never know whether he'd gotten the senior analyst position because his work was good enough or because he'd finally given Doflamingo what he'd been asking for.

His stomach tightened. 

He'd spent years building his career, doing the reports properly, taking the harder investigations, putting in the hours. He'd dealt with all the social bullshit because he'd believed eventually the work would matter.

He wanted the promotion. Badly enough that the answer wasn't as immediate as he wished it were. 

Zoro finished what remained of his drink and set the glass down. The next one, he'd nurse.

He still drank more than he probably should. A couple beers at home made his ankles hurt less after a long day, and sometimes drinking gave him something to do while he read or watched television. His doctor had already told him more than once to watch how much he was putting away. Lately, most Friday nights ended with Zoro counting on alcohol to make his coworkers easier to tolerate.

Today seemed like a particularly good day to listen to the doctor. He needed a clear head. If he decided to sleep with Doflamingo, he wanted it to be because he'd actually decided the promotion was worth the trade. He wasn't going to wake up tomorrow wondering whether he'd agreed because Doflamingo had kept his glass full until saying yes seemed easier.

Zoro survived the rest of the outing without making the decision.

Doflamingo didn't touch him again, although the conversation never moved far enough away from sex or the promotion for Zoro to forget why they were there. Zoro nursed the next whiskey until the ice had mostly melted and turned down another when Doflamingo offered.

Eventually, Doflamingo drove them back to the office and stopped beside the curb. Before Zoro could open the door, Doflamingo looked over at him. "If you change your mind, I'll be evaluating positions all weekend."

Zoro stared at him for a second. All weekend. A deadline without Doflamingo ever calling it one.

Zoro nodded once, got out of the car, and shut the door. He stood on the curb long enough to watch the muscle car pull away before heading back into the building.

When he went inside, Spandam spotted him almost immediately. His gaze moved from Zoro to the window, where Doflamingo's car was disappearing into traffic.

Spandam's eyebrows rose. "Getting pretty friendly with the boss, aren't you?"

Zoro stopped. There was enough amusement in Spandam's voice to make the implication obvious. "It was work."

"Sure." Spandam grinned and took a drink from his coffee cup. "Guess some people really know how to network."

Zoro looked at him for another second, then he walked away. He went back to his office and shut the door. The spreadsheets he'd abandoned earlier were still waiting on his monitors. The same vendor contracts. The same loss figures. Work Zoro knew how to do.

He sat down. Doflamingo had given him through the weekend to decide. Zoro stared at the numbers without reading them. The choice should've been simple.

It wasn't.

For the first time, Zoro was beginning to think he actually needed to make it.

On Friday night, Zoro's coworkers went to a sports bar to watch the big game. Zoro wasn't interested in sports at all, so he rooted for whoever they rooted for, nursed one beer, and took an Uber home as soon as he felt he'd stayed long enough to get away with leaving.

He kept himself busy, trying not to think about Doflamingo's advances or what refusing him might mean for Zoro's future at the company. Saturday morning, he shopped for groceries, did laundry, and cleaned both fish tanks. He changed the water, trimmed back several plants that had started crowding the glass, scrubbed algae from the corners, and rearranged a piece of driftwood that had shifted. It gave him several hours where the biggest problem in his life was whether the filter intake needed cleaning.

Unfortunately, the rest of the weekend still existed.

By Saturday evening, Zoro's phone had become difficult to ignore. He had Doflamingo's number through the company directory. It would take less than a minute to find it. Less than that to send a message.

Zoro sat on the couch with his phone in one hand and stared at the search bar. He could do it. A few words. Ask if the offer still stood. Agree to meet somewhere. Then Monday morning would probably look very different.

Senior analyst.

Better pay. Better title. More experience to put on his CV. Proof that the last several years hadn't been a waste.

Zoro opened the directory. He typed Doflamingo's name. The contact came up immediately. For several seconds, Zoro just looked at it, then he locked his phone and set it facedown on the coffee table.

Sunday wasn't much better. Every so often, he'd think about texting again. He could still change his mind. Doflamingo had given him the whole weekend.

Zoro knew what Monday could look like if he said yes. Doflamingo would probably be pleased. Maybe the promotion would be settled before Zoro even got to the office.

He also knew what Monday could look like if he didn't. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe the promotion would go to someone else. Maybe Doflamingo would make things worse. There wasn't any way to know. It was what bothered him most. He was used to having facts. Numbers. Reports. Something he could check twice before making a decision.

This time, all he had was a choice.

Sunday evening, Zoro picked up his phone again. He found Doflamingo's contact. His thumb hovered over the message icon. He imagined typing something simple.

About Friday.

Zoro sat there for another few seconds, then he backed out of the contact. He set the phone aside, poured himself a whiskey, and sat in front of his largest tank until he finished it, then he poured another. All he could do was hope the quality of his work mattered more than office politics.

Monday morning, Lucci gave them the news – the promotion was going to Spandam.

Zoro just nodded.

Spandam reacted like he’d always known it was coming, grinning broadly while Foxy clapped him on the shoulder and Kid offered to buy the first round Friday night. Lucci said something about the new responsibilities that came with the position, but Zoro stopped listening halfway through.

He'd known this could happen. Knowing didn't help.

He went back to his office. Senior positions didn't open often. It could be another ten years, maybe longer, before the next senior analyst retired. Another ten years of weekly outings. Another ten years of putting up with his coworkers' obnoxious behavior and pretending he enjoyed any of it. Probably drinking himself into an early grave just to get through Friday nights.

Zoro sat at his desk and opened the analysis he'd left unfinished Friday afternoon. For several minutes, he couldn't make himself read it. Spandam was a senior analyst now. Spandam, who had tried to borrow Zoro's report because the shared template apparently required too much effort. Spandam, who spent half his workday wandering through other people's offices and somehow knew whenever Doflamingo had plans after work.

Zoro dragged the spreadsheet back to the center of his screen and forced himself to pick up where he'd left off. 

That evening, Zoro went home, ate dinner on the couch, and left the television off. He opened a beer afterward and watched the fish weave through the plants until the bottle was empty. 

He considered getting another. Instead, he stayed where he was.

He went to work the next morning with something heavy sitting across his shoulders.

He did his job. Ate lunch at his desk. Kept to himself. When people passed his office, Zoro stayed focused on whatever was open on his computer.

He did the same thing Wednesday.

And Thursday.

People noticed. Foxy stopped at his door twice to ask what was wrong. Kid told him he looked pissed off. Spandam wandered past wearing the new senior analyst title with enough satisfaction that Zoro considered shutting the door in his face. He settled for keeping his attention on his work.

When Friday rolled around and his coworkers announced they wanted to do karaoke again, Zoro said he already had plans.

Foxy looked surprised. "Since when?"

"Since now."

"What plans?"

Zoro looked up from his computer. "Mine."

Kid laughed from where he stood behind Foxy. Foxy frowned at him. "Come on. Spandam's buying."

"Good for Spandam," Zoro said. Then he went home.

He did the same thing the following week.

And the week after that.

Zoro trudged into work, did his job, avoided his coworkers whenever possible by keeping his office door closed, then refused whatever invitation came around Friday afternoon. The first Friday night, he felt strange sitting at home while knowing exactly where everyone else was. By the second, the feeling had mostly disappeared. 

He read. Took care of the fish. Ordered takeout. Drank at home, although without the constant pressure of spending four hours trapped with his coworkers, it was easier to stop after two.

Eventually, Lucci called him into his office. “I heard from Foxy that you haven’t been going out with them lately.”

Zoro sat across from him. “Been busy.”

Lucci studied him for several seconds. “Something going on?”

Zoro shook his head. “No.”

Lucci continued looking at him, clearly unconvinced. There wasn’t much Lucci could threaten him with anymore. The promotion was gone. Zoro’s work hadn’t changed. He still came in on time, finished everything assigned to him, and produced better reports than half the department.

“For what it’s worth,” Lucci said eventually, “I recommended you.”

“I know.”

“The final decision wasn’t mine.”

Zoro gave a short nod.

Lucci’s gaze stayed on him. “You would do well to remember that in the future.”

There was enough in the pause that Zoro understood what Lucci wasn’t saying. Lucci knew Doflamingo had his own reasons for choosing Spandam. Maybe he even suspected those reasons had very little to do with the work. He wasn’t going to ask.

Lucci dismissed him after that. Zoro went back to work.

A few days later, Zoro ate lunch at his desk with his office door shut. Nobody had complained about the door lately. Maybe they'd finally accepted that he wasn't interested in socializing. Either way, Zoro wasn't going to ask.

He finished the last few bites of his lunch and pushed the container aside. A vendor analysis was open across both monitors, along with three supporting reports he'd been comparing before noon. Zoro looked over the figures one more time, made a note beside an inconsistency he wanted to check later, then saved everything.

He had forty-three minutes left in his lunch break. He took his phone out of his pocket. He'd updated his CV the night before. It had taken longer than expected, mostly because he'd kept rewriting the section about his current position. Nearly four years at the company. Investigations into cargo losses, fraudulent claims, vendor failures, shipping disruptions. Certifications. Projects he'd handled almost entirely on his own. Reports Lucci routinely called excellent. Written out together, it looked better than Zoro had expected.

He opened the job-search site he'd been browsing and went back to a position he'd saved that morning. Risk analyst. International freight company. Smaller than his current employer. Slightly longer commute. The posted salary range started below what Zoro made now, although not by enough to immediately rule it out.

He scrolled through the requirements again. Three years of relevant experience, which he had. Experience reviewing claims and identifying loss trends. Familiarity with carrier contracts, vendor assessments, and fraud investigations. He'd spent most of Monday doing exactly that.

The benefits weren't quite as good. The retirement match was lower. He'd have to check whether their insurance covered the specialist he still saw for his ankles. There was also nothing in the listing about company culture, which could mean anything.

Zoro opened the company's website and found the employee section. No photos of executives drinking together – a good start.

He checked the job listing again. There was no reason not to apply. Still, it felt strange. For years, he'd treated leaving as something he couldn't do. He needed more experience. The senior title would look better. The benefits were good. The commute worked. The next promotion might make everything easier.

Most importantly, he’d feel like a failure. Zoro wasn’t good at doing things halfway. He showed up, did the work, and gave everything he had to whatever was put in front of him. He’d spent nearly four years doing that because he thought eventually it would lead somewhere. Leaving without the senior title felt too much like admitting it hadn’t. 

Zoro looked through the glass beside his office door. Spandam was standing near Foxy's desk, talking instead of working.

Senior Analyst Spandam.

Zoro looked back at his phone. Fuck waiting. He attached his CV. The application asked whether he was willing to travel occasionally. Yes. Whether he had experience with international shipping. Yes. Whether he required sponsorship. No.

Expected salary. Zoro entered a number, reconsidered it, then raised it slightly. He wasn't going to negotiate against himself before anybody had even spoken to him.

At the bottom of the page was a button marked Submit Application. Zoro rested his thumb above it. For a second, he thought about his office. The paycheck. His fish tanks. The route he knew without having to check his phone every ten steps. The health insurance card in his wallet.

Then he thought about Doflamingo's hand on his leg. Lucci telling him his work was impeccable. Spandam getting the promotion anyway.

Zoro pressed submit. A confirmation page appeared.

He closed the browser, put his phone facedown beside his lunch container, and reopened the vendor analysis. He still had another analysis to finish before five, and tomorrow morning he'd come back to the same office and do the same job. But for the first time, staying wasn't his only plan.

Friday afternoon, Foxy stopped at his door to announce they were going back to the strip club. Zoro opened his mouth to turn him down, but paused. He’d stopped going out with his coworkers because he was finished wasting Friday nights pretending to enjoy himself for their benefit. That didn't mean he couldn't go somewhere because he wanted to. 

"Fine," Zoro said. 

Foxy blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah."

He ignored Foxy’s immediate grin.

The club was packed when they walked in. Music thudded through the floor, customers crowded the booths and stages. After weeks away, Zoro had forgotten just how much noise there was in the place.

His coworkers headed toward an empty booth. Zoro didn't even sit down. "I'm getting a lap dance."

Kid stared after him. "Already?"

Zoro ignored him and walked away. This time, he didn't head for the hallway leading to the private rooms. He went to the bar. He'd spotted Sanji there almost as soon as they'd entered.

Most customers were gathered around the stages or settled into booths, which left several empty stools at one end of the bar. Zoro took one in the corner and waited.

Sanji noticed him after finishing with another customer. A small grin crossed his face as he came down the bar. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah."

"And you're not booking it for the alley."

Zoro's mouth twitched. "Decided to try something different."

"Oh?"

"Thought I'd talk to you in here instead."

Sanji's gaze flicked briefly toward the booth where Zoro's coworkers had settled. "Did you get things straightened out with your boss?"

"Yeah." Zoro picked at a small nick in the edge of the bar. "Didn't get the promotion."

Sanji's expression sobered. "You feel good or bad about that decision?"

"Neither. Both." Zoro sighed. "I'm really good at my job."

"I'm sure you are," Sanji said.

Zoro glanced down at the bar. It was something that kept bothering him no matter how much he tried to ignore it. He could've accepted losing because somebody else was better at the work. Spandam wasn't. 

"And I'm sure somewhere else would appreciate you more," Sanji added.

Zoro huffed softly. "Working on it."

"If you need temporary employment in the meantime, we could use a cute guy like you around here," Sanji said.

Zoro ducked his head before Sanji could get too good of a look at his face. Sanji's mouth curved knowingly. 

"I think I'll stay where I am until I find something else," Zoro said.

"Probably smarter." For a moment, Sanji busied himself wiping down the counter in front of Zoro. "You still gonna come in here?"

Zoro looked at him. He probably wouldn't come back with his coworkers. He'd stopped going out with them, and that had been the whole point. The only reason he'd agreed tonight was sitting across the bar from him. 

Zoro wet his lips. He'd spent the entire ride over thinking about whether he was actually going to do this. Apparently he was. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd want to go out sometime."

Sanji stilled mid-wipe of the counter.

Zoro's stomach tightened. "With me," he added unnecessarily.

A slow smile spread across Sanji's face. "I won't say no to that."

Zoro felt himself smiling back before he could stop it. For the first time in weeks, something in him loosened. "Let me get your number, then. We can figure out a night."

"I already know it's gonna be a good date." Sanji gave him a flirtatious wink as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Zoro ducked his head, cheeks heating again, and took out his own phone. Sanji gave him his number, and Zoro sent a quick text so Sanji would have his.

"I'll send you the nights I have off," Sanji said.

"Okay."

Sanji glanced toward the booth where Zoro's coworkers were already getting loud. Foxy had both arms up for some reason, while Kid was shouting toward one of the stages. Spandam was waving bills at a dancer.

"Shouldn't you be getting back?" Sanji asked. 

Zoro slipped his phone into his pocket. He looked toward the booth, then back at Sanji. "No. I'm good right where I am."

Sanji's smile returned. "In that case, what can I get you?"

Zoro almost said whiskey automatically. He looked toward the rows of bottles behind Sanji and then changed his mind. "Lemonade."

Sanji's eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn't comment. "Coming right up."

Zoro checked himself over in the mirror, making sure everything was tucked in properly. He combed his hair back, brushed his teeth, and gave himself one last look. Everything was in order.

New shirt. New office. New job.

He left the bathroom, packed his lunch, then checked his messenger bag to make sure he had everything he needed before heading out.

He walked the short distance to the subway station. He boarded the train and ended up standing in the crowded aisle, one hand wrapped around the overhead strap as the train lurched away from the station. His ankles complained faintly with every sway of the car, but he'd left early enough that he didn't have to worry about rushing once he got off.

He was about halfway to his destination when his phone vibrated in his pocket. Zoro pulled it out and opened the new message.

Sanji:
You'll kill it. Meet me tonight at the club for a drink?

Zoro smiled down at his phone and typed back.

Zoro:
I'll come directly from work.

A response came almost immediately.

Sanji:
I'm dancing tonight, so we'll have more time between customers to celebrate your successful first day.

Zoro's smile widened.

Zoro:
Can't wait.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and adjusted his grip as the subway rattled down the tracks.

They'd been seeing each other for a few months. Their first date had been dinner somewhere quiet enough that Zoro could hear Sanji without leaning across the table. After that came an aquarium, a couple more dinners, and eventually evenings at Zoro's apartment that lasted late enough Sanji stopped pretending he was going home. 

It had taken him a while to find another position. The new job came with a pay cut, but there were no required social outings. His performance would be based on his work, not who he drank with after hours or how entertaining he could make himself outside the office. Nobody had mentioned happy hour during either interview.

In some ways, it felt as though he was starting over. Mostly, he felt relieved. He could just be himself – quiet, introverted, perfectly happy spending an evening with his fish instead of going out.

Unless he was going out with Sanji.

More often than not, Sanji came over instead. He usually cooked, which hadn't done Zoro's waistline any favors, but Sanji had made it abundantly clear that he liked Zoro's body exactly as Zoro wanted it. Any lingering doubt about that tended to disappear when Sanji sprawled beside him on the couch with a hand resting comfortably over Zoro's middle. 

Zoro had started walking more and drinking less, though neither had turned into some dramatic self-improvement project. His ankles still hurt, and his desire to start weightlifting remained nonexistent, but he liked lazy Sunday mornings wandering through the farmers market while Sanji picked out ingredients for dinner. Cutting back on alcohol had gotten easier, too. Leaving the old job had removed one of the biggest reasons he'd been reaching for whiskey so often, even if it hadn't been the only one. 

Zoro rarely thought about his old job. Occasionally, he'd have a nightmare where he walked into his old office and found Doflamingo waiting for him with that familiar leer. He'd wake annoyed more than frightened, usually with Sanji asleep beside him and one of Zoro's feet hanging off the edge of the mattress.

On his last day, Zoro had filed a harassment complaint with HR. He'd listed the dates he remembered, the comments, the touching, the afternoon at the club, and Doflamingo's comments about the promotion. Then he'd hit submit, saved a copy for himself, and left. He doubted it had gone anywhere. He hadn't bothered asking. But he'd filed it, and that mattered to him.

Leaving that office had taken him longer than it probably should have. Reporting Doflamingo had taken even longer. He'd still done both.

Zoro wasn't someone who charged headlong into problems just because they needed confronting. He was a regular person with a desk job, bills to pay, fish to take care of, and a life he wanted to keep comfortable. He'd always figured it would be nice to have someone to share it with, too. 

His thoughts drifted to Sanji curled beside him in bed a few nights ago, bitching about how badly he wanted a cigarette while attempting to give them up. Sanji had decided that if Zoro was cutting back on drinking, he could work on his own vice, too.

Zoro had pointed out that nobody had asked him to. Sanji had called him an ungrateful moss-headed bastard and stolen most of the blankets.

It was possible Zoro had found that someone – in the lap dancer he'd refused to open his eye for when they first met. 

Sanji had since given him another lap dance in the privacy of Zoro's apartment.

Zoro had definitely watched that one.

End