Recently I found two people willing to translate all my fanfics and honestly I'm happy af about it

They're not native english speakers BUT I trust them as much as I trust my own habilities, so I hope everything is fine. I guess there might be some mistakes, but we'll work on it for next times. I hope you like it.

The beta who helped make this happen is: Naliams

I dedicate this fanfic to Roroxp17 and May-Fire-Yana.

I've been sitting about an hour in the armchair, the only place to sit in the room. The ashtray resting on the arm is in perfect balance, and within it there's a pile of extinct but still smoldering butts. I should not smoke too much but I can't help it. I need it, is a part of me, it relaxes me when anxiety knocks on my door.

Although lately nothing gets to relax me enough, and anxiety attacks are becoming more frequent and intense. I fear for my health, both physically and mentally. But, to be honest, the latter hasn't been in top condition for a while.

I can't explain how I feel, I just remain silent (my head thick, full of ideas I can't express, because I think in concepts, not words, in the abstract) sitting in my armchair in the dark, while I smoke a cig after another.

My headache doesn't stop and my ideas are hurting, but my breathing is getting back to normal. How something abstract, intangible and inexpressible in words can do so much damage? These sensations are haunting me.

This is the last cigarette from the pack, and fortunately for my lungs the last of today. I will not go down stairs to buy more.

My eyes scan the room and stop on one of my bohemian dark wood shelves. I own many novels (most romantic) thanks to my former teammate of work, Nico Robin. I worked for a while in her library. Many of the books that I own were presents from her.

They are always romantic, regardless of the subplots or main plot.

I live in love with the idea of love itself, hoping to fall in love madly. Years ago, I would have defended my heterosexuality to death, but at this point, in my 35 years, I have come to terms with myself, and after been through so much mental pain, the physical aspect has become less important. It doesn't mean that I can't appreciate a handsome or beautiful face, on the contrary, I love beauty by itself, but now I fall in love with the minds. Or I would, if I were capable.

It has been so long since I fell in love. I've forced myself to it, because I'm capable. I'm fully aware of all my moods, how to trigger and reverse them, but that level of consciousness only worsens my mental state, nothing feels sincere. Since a long time ago I haven't felt anything real.

I'd stopped seeing my lifelong friends. We each have our jobs, some already have a family. And here I am the most romantic of all, in the prime of life, single, with no hope or future plans and suicidal. Fuck the routine and fuck everybody.

Looking back in time, I always thought that I would end taking a chance with Nami. And when I had it felt disgusted. I've grown up with her; I'd develop a fraternal affection that I couldn't do it. She took it very well ... too well. I suspect that she gave me the opportunity out of pity. Shortly after she told me she was a lesbian. Imagine my face. She was dating a girl in university, the same girl that I was in love with in elementary school, Vivi; but at the end their paths diverged. The last I heard is that Nami was bisexual and was going to marry a man named Paul ... or Pauli ... Irrelevant.

Robin and Franky were always a couple, since I can remember. I always wanted something like what they had, but I never felt this way about anyone. That's why I realized that I was in love with love, and that I can't fall in love with anyone else, which makes my life a psychological spiral of endless pain.

I lost track of Luffy long ago, as well as with Chopper and Usopp. I haven't talked to nobody in a long time, nobody calls me, I do not call anyone. I feel terribly alone. At my age, if you are single or with none future plans, you have it very hard.

I haven't shaved for days, and I only take showers because I'm obsessed with personal hygiene.

I don't even go out. Just open the windows for ventilation.

No one could understand how I feel, because no one has felt it, no one makes an effort or cares enough. Breaking ties for necessity isolates you more than what you've been told. How I wish to go back to those school afternoons, when I scored goals with no mercy. I had always loved football, and I got along very well.

I can feel the tears growing in my eyes.., no, it isn't only in my eyes, I'm already crying. My last cigarette is meeting its end, but isn't because of that. It's because I've been left behind. I've tried to live all too quickly. I'd loved falsely more people than I can remember, I have given up many things, I have left all my hobbies and nobody was there to give a fuck, fix me, kick my ass and push me to the outside and so, change my life. No one rescued me when I needed it. No one fell madly in love with me.

It's been days since I last checked my social networks, weeks that my phone doesn't ring.

I'd stopped to reread the stupid romance novels, novels that only perpetuate my depressive state. And yet I do not feel better.

I'm about to run out of savings, I have no job, I'm about to become homeless, but I refuse to borrow money from Zeff. I will not tolerate his criticism of my lifestyle. I have never mattered more to him than what is obligated as a family. He cared about my grades when I was economically dependent, and made my life impossible when he discovered that I feel slightly attracted to men.

I will not fall to that level. My weak mind couldn't take it.

I've lost physical condition and I don't feel attractive at all. I was a Don Juan before. And now here I am, missing a bygone era ... An era where I can't go back, life doesn't wait for anyone and the past is in the past. But the future.., my present, doesn't give me consolation and treats me without compassion.

My cigarette is over and I get up from the armchair. My body doesn't obey me and it's guided by an internal force that wants to end my suffering. In a way I'm grateful.

I open the large window of the front wall and climb onto the windowsill. The air moves my disheveled hair and takes away the smell of the nicotine from my body. My white shirt is fluttering like a jellyfish and my baggy pants show the outline of my legs.

I can't believe I'm going to jump, after all these years. My sweet Nami.., Robin…, sorry guys.

But something stops me before I could fall. I've heard something.

My phone.

It's just my mobile phone. I let out the air I didn't know I'd been holding.

It could be even advertising.

But for weeks it didn't sound. And what if it's something important? And if is not? I may be wasting the only impulse that can end my pain. I may not feel it again, and never find the courage to do it.

But what if it's a sign?

A signal.

I get down from the windowsill, come back into the room and walk cautiously to where the phone is, but whatever it is, I feel like my momentum is gone, so I hope it's worthwhile. Someone has acknowledged my existence, whether an autodialer or a real person it must be worth it.

I have a new whatsapp message. I raise an eyebrow at the strange event, my heart beats too fast for this simple act.

I open it and see that is ...!? Marimo!?

* Message * Hey, cook, how's it going? I came back from Japan. I would like to see you, beers, or something, you know, to catch up. I hope you have not changed your number ...

I stare at the screen dumbfounded. It is impossible. Zoro! I spent years without seeing Zoro. I remember when he left ... 10 years ago. How time flies ... At that time our friendship was based on continuous bickering and fights, but we felt a great respect for the other. Something I screwed up miserably, (by the way). When Zoro found out that I was attracted to men, our friendship changed beyond repair. He stopped hanging with me, and only showed in my presence when we were all in groups, and even then he didn't face me. It hurt a lot, then, a few months later he left and I never heard from him again… until today.

Some of the gang kept in contact with him, but that only last for a while, gradually the distance toke its toll, breaking many of our bonds that one day we thought invincible.

But Zoro is back and he has talked to me. Maybe I'm the only person who he was able to find and preferred to act as if nothing had happened. Or maybe he doesn't even remember. The bastard.

Oh God. I felt something. Anger.

It is the first time I felt something in so long.

I smile like a kid again and unlock the phone to answer. "See you in 1 hour at Sabaody bar. I hope you remember where it is. "

I lock the phone again and I feel that my jaw is hurting. It's because I keep smiling. I'm excited. It's ridiculous! But it makes me happy! I am happy to finally feel something. And all because of him.

My phone answers with a vibration and my heart beats so fast I think I'll die. But I could not erase the smile off my face, a smile that hurts because of so many months of facial blankness.

"See you there", replied the bastard.

I throw the phone to the armchair and run to the shower. I shower thoroughly and shave my beard. I always have been a little conceited, so I retouch it and give it a Tony Stark look, straighten my hair and put on one of my best suits.

This feels surreal. If anyone had told me yesterday that this would happen today, I would have said that I surely will try to give an impression of tranquility and not to awake pity in him, not by a change of mood, to be honest.

I leave the house and down my way by the stairs instead of the elevator. I'm not walking, I'm striding. Despite my general downgrade in my physical form and stamina, I have this adrenaline rush and I feel that I could run a marathon and win. Run to the bar. Of course, I would probably die if decided to stop. Which it is not very recommended.

Less than forty minutes ago I was on to the windowsill, about to jump, my eyes were swollen and red from mourn. And look at me now.

I came to the bar five minutes before the appointed time and waited at the door. I want to see him arrive. I want to see if he recognizes me, if he has changed.

"Cook," said a voice on my right, just in my blind side. I had assumed he would come from the left .

In front of me, a man about my height. Maybe a little lower, but more muscular, he looks bigger. The fact hat he has managed to keep the muscles this well at this age has a merit. His hair is still green, and the three stupid earrings are still dangling from his ear. Still lacking an eye. Zoro is still Zoro, at least physically.

"Marimo" I reply, and both smiled almost simultaneously.

We haven't stay in the bar. We bought a 6 pack beer and then went to a nearby park, sat on a bench in front of a large fountain that was turnoff at this hour (of course). Should be 2 in the morning and at this time, any other day I should be drinking wine, watching the infomercial or the horoscope. In fact, at this hour, today, I should be dead. And it's an idea that doesn't go out of my head.

We talk for a while. He tells me about his 10 years in Japan. He was dating a girl named Kuina, but she died within a year of being together. And later he began dating her twin, Tashigi, but when he realized that he was with her because she looked like Kuina and not for herself, he broke off the relationship. He has been single since then, focused solely on martial arts. Still fighting the three katana's style, the animal.

He offers me to beat me up one day, and I accept the challenge. I better get in shape again, I will not lose to this ape.

He makes me laugh several times during the conversation. It's nice. I had forgotten what it was to interact with a human being, after years of isolation.

Suddenly he stops laughing and get silent. At this point I can't wipe the smile off my face, but I try to soften it.

"What?" I ask the most serious that I can. "Look" he says "…I'm not good at these things ... look, I apologize". To my disbelief, he continues, "I acted like a jerk. And I'm sorry. I know that I have no excuse, I wasn't a kid then, but, but I regret it very much. I have regretted it all these years. You were my friend and did not act as I should have, for reasons… personal reasons ... " I note some doubt in his voice, but he doesn't get carried away, and leave it at that.

"It doesn't matter" I answer "I hadn't thought about it in years", and then I smiled weakly "Perhaps I remembered it today, when I saw your message, but it isn´t something that has tormented me, believe me" I say and just for a moment I put my hand on his knee.

We continue drinking in silence for a few minutes, until I decide I must tell him, because the idea has not left my mind.

I choose to be as direct as possible, the most natural thing is some kind of shock from him, but I think under the circumstances it's the obvious reaction, and not expect it like that will be wrong.

I lean on my knees, supporting my weight on my forearms that rest on my thighs; my hands are bound between my legs. I fix my eyes on the shadow that is left by a gum that used to be stuck on the pavement and start talking. "When I received your message, I was about to jump out of the window. Now I could be dead. "

If before was silent, silence has decided to shut itself. He doesn't say anything or try to intervene in anyway, so I decide to continue, just in case that he thinks of something to say as I speak. Such conversations never end well, either for pity, reproach or for not been taken seriously, though, I feel I must continue.

"But I heard the phone, and it has been so long that I did not relate to anybody that I could not resist the temptation to see who it was. It turns out that "marimo" has come home ". I smile, though my eyes do not leave the fixed point on the ground, and the smile is more for me than for him. The silence is becoming deafening, so I sit, look at him and while I hold the tears in my eyes I force all this confrontation in one sentence. "You saved my life with a fucking whatsapp, Marimo".

Suddenly he lunges at me and kisses me ...

It is an almost platonic kiss, lips to lips, a chaste kiss, that's all. I notice that there is passion in it, but it's the kind of passion that is contained, passion for something you care about, passion, fear, fear of losing something that you care about. It is a passion with a much deeper meaning than something carnal; it's almost a friendly kiss. A "Thank God you're alright" translated to kiss. But it only lasts a few seconds. There has been nothing sexual about it. Well, now I notice butterflies in the stomach, but other than that, no, nothing sexual.

He gets away from my lips, but with his arms still around me, up my shoulders, and his hand makes me bow my head and put it on the curve between his neck and shoulder. Zoro smells of our fights, smells like the past. And I've never been so glad that the past overtakes me.

I noticed that his breathing is somewhat agitated. He is crying, a little. But I will not say anything, because I know that if I do it, he will get away and go all macho on me. I let my arms embrace him too, by the waist and rubbed his back.

Technically, he should be the one doing this, but I think it has affected him more than me.

I try inhaling the Zoro scent all I can.

Suddenly, he has separated almost entirely from me, and places his hands on the sides of my head and seals his forehead to mine.

"I shouldn't have gone", he says as he looks down.

"You are an idiot, and that's idiotic" I reply, looking away. But when I feel the deafening silence again, my eyes meet his.

"I'll never leave again," he answers, with a determinate attitude.

I keep silent, because his black eyes do not stray from mine and honestly, I can't think.

No... I didn't think the night was going to end like this, really. I mean ... fuck. Just hours ago I was going to kill myself and now, one of my best childhood friends just kissed me. It's all a bit uncomfortable. But my friend is back and I feel less alone. I know he probably cannot understand what has led me to the extreme situation of a couple of hours ago, but maybe it's not needed, maybe his presence here helps me to avoid that kind of situation again.

It's getting late and I'm starting to get cool, so I got up and he decides to walk me home.

The way back is quiet, but not an uncomfortable one. Both of us have a lot to think about.

We arrive at the door of my house and now, I give him the most masculine hug I can give at this hour, accompanied by a couple of pats on the back. A "good to see you, man" hug. We get apart and each one of us gives a weak and weary smile, that looks more like sad grin, but we both understand.

When I'm about to reach into my suit's pocket and take the keys out I stop, because I've noticed that he's closer to me, and in the moment that I looked up to see what was going on, he leans down and kisses me again, but more carefully, slowly. I return the kiss, and he places his hand on the side of my jaw, and bowed his head to the opposite side to deepen the kiss. "OK, that's a tongue" thinks my imaginative and accelerated brain. And milliseconds later I come to the conclusion that this probably can't pass as a colleagues kiss as before. Both of us keep hugged and continue kissing, sticking to the wall in the process.

When the kiss starts to become too sexual, we part, and crowns the kiss with a chaste one, and after smiling to me he runs to the bus stop, which is almost in front of him. And it makes me want to laugh because I have lived too many emotions in one day, in one night! And despite that my "take it all" lifestyle almost drove me to the grave, feeling this many emotions in so little time is making the opposite effect.

That's when I think that maybe I could re-read one of my stupid romance novels.

Reviews are most welcome. Good ones. Not bad /

Thanks for reading!