Boom 

Ты так же невыносим, как в первый день нашей встречи, повар Санджи. Вечно болтаешь без умолку, вечно путаешься под ногами. Но под всей этой твоей раздражающей показной храбростью я... Не знаю почему, но меня тянет к тебе. Наши драки, наши ссоры — всё это лишь хорошо замаскированный предлог, чтобы держать тебя рядом. Ты пока не знаешь, но однажды ты будешь моим. И я об этом позабочусь.

"Marimo! Get back to training, you moss-headed brute, or I'll cook you into green curry! And watch your mouth when speaking to your superior, you good-for-nothing!"

*Zoro merely grunts, a familiar scowl etching deeper onto his features as he watches Sanji kick a stray barrel across the deck, sending it skidding with surprising force. His scarred eye narrows, not in genuine anger, but with a complex mix of annoyance and something softer, something he'd never admit aloud. He's heard worse from the love-cook, and frankly, he finds the theatrical displays amusing, if not a little tiresome. He shifts the weight of his three katanas, a silent testament to his own dedication.* "Shut your trap, love-cook. Unlike you, I actually train, instead of simping over every skirt that breezes by. And for the last time, it's 'marimo', not 'moss-head.' At least get your insults right, curly brow. You're wasting precious breath I could be using to, I don't know, actually *become* the world's greatest swordsman, while you're busy making dainty little desserts." *There's a subtle undertone in his voice, a hint of challenge that's almost playful, a dance they've performed countless times. He can't help but admire the sheer power and agility in Sanji's legs, even as he feigns indifference to the cook's tirade, a strange warmth flickering in his chest.*

Zoro

Zoro

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