Hello Guys

Chapter One: Edited.
Ok so not much has changed. I just made Zoro think a bit more and Sanji seem more irritating.

Enjoy

The Lives That Bind Us

Chapter One: Bad Day

Zoro

The heavy blow struck across the man's face, but he did not move.
He simply turned his head to the side slightly.

The shock of the blow surged through his body, crushing his fingers into a fist to bring it down across his opponent's face.

Arlong stumbled back, several teeth falling out, some pointed from where they had been chipped from the punch. Blood soaked his mouth, staining his lips from where he had bitten himself from the impact.
His eyes screamed murder, giving silent orders to his lackeys surrounding the hooded figure who watched with a blank expression.
Like a man with no purpose.
Someone who had given up on life.

One of the opponents, his name forgotten, tried to slide around to the hooded man's blind spot. Before he had time to lash out, a heavy boot swung up, catching him in the stomach.
The man was forced backwards, the air leaving his lungs as he slammed into the wall of the building behind him. The second opponent was pushed back with a fist to his abdomen, knocking into the previous. They tripped and tumbled, landing in a pile of hissing, spitting limbs, cursing profanities as they tried to get back up, using the alley wall as support.

Arlong's glare was fiercer. He made motions to the last man, who seemed slightly hesitant at approaching.
They moved in together from opposite sides.

A flicker of emotion danced across the hooded figure's lips as he smiled.
Both men hesitated.

Without warning, the hooded figure grabbed both men by their necks, his fingers flexing to boast of the strength in his digits. A little pressure applied just right and he could snap their windpipes…

But he wanted the fight to be prolonged. He wanted this to continue.

The figure settled for shifting his weight, twisting his body to fling the others into opposite alley walls, smiling at the sound of crunching bone on impact. He couldn't keep the smile from his lips, the wild look in his eyes as he felt his bloodlust growing.
He hadn't felt like this in a long time. These raw emotions had been reserved for one man. One man that he would give anything to kill...

This fight was simply the consequence of wrong place, wrong time. Zoro didn't care though.
In fact, he was grateful that everyone returned to their feet. Bodies pumping with adrenaline, fuelled by anger and humiliation at being beaten so easily by someone they had provoked into fighting.
Zoro was the perfect target, even though most idiots would avoid a confrontation with him seeing as the nineteen year old was built like a pro-wrestling champion. He'd been mindlessly wandering around, his head preoccupied with sad words and tear jerking sobs from friends.

A cold voice telling him those two words, repeating over and over in his head.

"She's dead."

Zoro couldn't remember who had told him. Luffy? When he called earlier, asking where the man was?
Or was it Usopp? He had been crying, trying to speak but given up when Nami took the phone. Did she tell Zoro?

No.
It was someone else.

A cold voice.
A deadpan tone to mask the emotion of losing a friend.

A cold voice.

Zoro's voice? Had he said it? Did he admit it to himself?
Admit to killing her, letting her die, watching her body grow cold…

No, he hadn't seen her die. He wasn't even there!

Zoro felt his fist connect with flesh, his body still fighting. He kept his punches light, for the most part, his aim just off centre of the weak parts of the body. To prolong the fight.
To keep this feeling of being alive.

Because without it, Zoro felt broken. Non-existent.
He wanted this fight. He needed this fight.

This pain in his hand and chest and legs. The heaviness of his breath as he drew back his fist to slam it into someone's gut. The shattering sensation of his wrist as his punch collided with the alley wall; his target having ducked at the last second. The roar of emotion, the sweat on his skin, the sense of eyes on him.
The bloodlust growing. The adrenaline pumping through his body.
The moans of pain, the laughter slipping between his teeth. He needed the feeling of being alive with every attack dealt to some part of his body that was only half-heartedly protected.

Zoro needed to feel something.
Anything to distract him from the words in his head as he listened to the echoing sobs in his mind. Whose they were was unclear to him. He could just feel the sadness, the emotion making his chest tight, his lungs cold with every breath. The guilt in his mind as he listened to the accusing words.

"She's dead."

She's gone.

Kuina.
Zoro's baby sister.

How? He did not know.
There were words of 'accident' and 'fight.'
'Pushed' or 'fallen.'
'Tripped.'

Dead.

Her body broken… Skin numb to touch… Her lips pale…
Eyes forever closed.

Zoro didn't want to hear it. He began to run. Faraway from where he was and what he knew. Away from the pain, the guilt, the disgrace, the regret.
Where he had been, he didn't remember, where he was going, he didn't know. His feet took him where they wiled to go, down familiar streets and strange places. Past memories and moments of recollection.

The sky had darkened, the clouds rolling in and Zoro had found himself here, a fight in an alley. It was dark. He had recognised one of the faces; Arlong, a juvenile punk he'd seen sauntering around his university. The lackey's were familiar but he didn't know the names. He didn't care enough to remember anyway. All he knew was that he was fighting familiar faces with intent to kill. He wanted to hurt them.
Zoro didn't care that they had insulted Nami. The bitch deserved it from all the shit she pulled, all that stealing and using people. He was pissed when they insulted Luffy's hyper personality for stupidity. He was angry when they insulted Usopp about being an idiot and a coward.
The younger boy may be a liar but he hadn't done anything to be beaten up so badly he had to be put in intensive care for several months, all thanks to Arlong and his gang.

But none of that provoked Zoro. Not really.

But Arlong overstepped the line when he open his mouth to insult Kuina.
Zoro's baby sister.

Zoro wasn't just going to hurt them. He was going to murder them.

Zoro's body moved in a blur. He felt a blow to his lower abdomen but moved with it, trying to keep a grip on reality as a burning sensation surged through his body. His head was too full of empty thoughts and the feelings of regret and shame. He felt anger towards himself, he, the one who hadn't been there for his sister when she needed him. He was Kuina's real murderer.

It was him. Zoro; who wasn't there to protect her. Not there to stand by here when she needed him. He hadn't even been with her in her last moments to say goodbye.
But that didn't matter because she was dead and Zoro wasn't. She was gone and he was still here, breathing, fighting. Living.

Him, who should've been in her place. He, who would've survived the accident, not her who will never open her eyes again, never laugh about Zoro's excuse about the streets moving by themselves and never live a life beyond training and school and the secret crush on that boy in the same class as her. Kuina had only just told Zoro of her first love. Not admiration, like what she felt for her brother and father.

Love.
The real deal with the universe stopping and flashing lights and the funny thumping in your chest when they smile at you or even glance your way. When time slows when your eyes meet for a split second and you feel bare, exposed, as if your very soul is on display…
The future of a family, children and a husband snatched away by Death, cruelly laughing as he held her life in his bony hands and crushed it to dust.
To nothing.

To what ifs and buts and speculations.

To supposing and imagination and feelings of regret and guilt.

Zoro slammed three pointed fingers into someone's neck, feeling the weight float away as they crumpled to the floor. He stood still, waiting for the next attack.
But it never came.

Instead, his only comfort was the gentle feeling of rain pouring from the heavens, washing across his skin and disguising his tears as nothing more than drops of water from the sky. Zoro smiled to himself, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back. He let the rain caress his skin, hoping to let all his emotions drain away.

To forget everything. To wake up in bed. To find it was only a nightmare. To wander into Kuina's bedroom, to find her still asleep, dreaming peacefully…

There was a hum somewhere to Zoro's right; the sound of someone talking. The voice didn't sound familiar.
Zoro opened his eyes, peering through the raindrops in front of him. There was a faint smell of tobacco smoke in the air, and a flash of bright gold that didn't belong in a grungy back alley. Someone was stood in front of him, one hand gripping him just above his right wrist, as if to keep him upright, as if Zoro would keel over any second. An anchor to reality.
Zoro stared at the long slender fingers, delicately marked with nicks and scars and burns, as if each one had been deliberately placed upon each digit. The hand belonged to a blonde haired man, stood casually, his other hand preoccupied with a cigarette, which he was smoking in a casual manner as if watching thug fights was a daily occurrence and something he was bored with. He had a curtain of hair pulled down over his left eye, leaving his other the only one Zoro was able to see, along with a singular spiral eyebrow. They were bright blue, too bright and too blue to actually be his real eyes… Surely…

It didn't occur to Zoro that it was odd to question whether or not the man's eyes were real. He didn't think it weird either to be staring at so long, his eyes skimming across the man's lithe figure, limber body. Zoro could see his shape through the posh suit he was wearing; his small muscles flexing slightly as the Blonde readjusted his grip just above Zoro's wrist. The man looked down to it, then back to the man.

"What do you want Curly-brow?" Zoro didn't mean to be so blunt, but with adrenaline gone he just felt so exhausted. He also figured that this newcomer had taken down his pitiful opponents before the real fight had even started.
"Bastard," the man hissed in reply, his grip tightening on Zoro's arm. There was a discomfort there but Zoro didn't really register it. Instead, his head started to focus on the other parts of his body that was hurting. His chest, his abdomen, his left shoulder, his right ankle, both his knees, his forehead. Great, he was getting a headache.
The rain was still coming down, making the once pleasant feeling turn cold, and Zoro wasn't overly keen on wet clothes…

Zoro was vaguely aware of the blonde talking. "…pulled a knife on you dumbass. And it was boring to watch some Neanderthal being bashed about." There was a subtle smirk at his own joke but other than that the bastard sounded serious. Zoro growled at the insult, but he felt a sort of smugness when he heard Arlong had pulled a knife, noticing the small implement half imbedded in the alley wall opposite, not at all wondering hoe it got there.
Puny weapon. Maybe Zoro should've brought his swords.
Then there would've been a murder.

Either that or he could ram his blades through this particularly irritating blonde who still had hold of his arm. "Let go asshole," Zoro growled, yanking on his wrist, but the blonde held firm. In fact his finger's just curled tighter. Zoro could feel the power in his hands.

Why? He was a mere… well he was small. Zoro didn't really care what he was. But the Blonde was staring at Zoro's chest like a monster was about to crawl out of it or something.
"Come on," he said slowly, trying to pull Zoro closer by his arm. "I'll give you a ride to the hospital."

"What?"

Zoro wrenched his hand from the blonde, taking a few steps back. "I'm not going to some damn hospital for some stupid scrapes and bruises," he growled angrily, taking another step back, feeling a little unsure. He'd never go to a hospital. They were useless wastes of space where they pumped money in and dead bodies out. They couldn't save Kuina.

"Idiot, you've broken your wrist," blondie said, stabbing his cigarette towards the fist he had been holding.
Zoro looked at it, having forgotten. His body had numbed the pain, but sure enough there was a slight bulge where there shouldn't be and already it was beginning to bruise. Well, he had punched a wall…

"It's nothing." Zoro pulled up his wrist to inspect it. Oh well, a splint and a tight bandage would support it for a week. Maybe less.

The man started to retreat again, mentally thinking of the rundown areas of town where he might be able to start another fight and get more feeling back into his body. His hoodie was totally soaked and there was blood splatters from the finished fight... Cursing to himself, he pulled the hoodie off, revealing his bright green hair which he usually kept covered up to avoid the usual singling out.

"Whoa dude you definitely need to see a doctor!" Blondie was back at his side, grabbing at Zoro's loose t-shirt – not talking about the man's hair as he had initially thought…
Zoro was too shocked to fight off the lean man as he pulled up the edge, revealing Zoro's bare chest. There, trailing along his skin like a tattoo, was a large gash running from his belly button down to the top of his left thigh bone. Blood was smeared across his skin with large tracks running down to stain Zoro's trousers.

The green haired idiot grunted at the superficial wound. "It's nothing," he repeated, pulling the t-shirt back down to cover it. Arlong was so going to pay for this.
Blondie gaped at him with a shocked expression. But that quickly changed to anger. "Damn it moss-head. Just listen or you'll- hey. HEY!"

Zoro watched the world tilt and felt himself come into contact with something hard and painful.

Everything went black.

Sanji

Sanji lent against the back alley wall, taking a long and appreciated drag from his cigarette. He was meant to be taking the trash out – which he had already done – and had rewarded himself with a quick break for a smoke.
It had been a long day of repetitive orders and complimenting the appearances of pretty woman and almost constant fighting with Patty and Carne who couldn't even tell the difference between Cardamom and Ginger. Zeff had kicked off about something or other and Sanji was the one to answer back. Most of the morning consisted of slamming doors and shouting at the top of his voice to waiters, cooks and inanimate objects, inadvertently giving himself a headache.

Sanji tilted his head back and let it rest against the cool brick to try and soothe the ache, ignoring the slightly damp sensation, caused by the rain. It wasn't too heavy so Sanji didn't worry. He watched as the last of the chefs pulled out of the staff carpark and made their journey home. He was the last one, keys ready to lock up, but he knew that he would have to go back in and check everyone had cleared up properly, check stock, list inventory before finally heading home an hour later.

Sanji sighed to himself, wishing he could leave earlier. He needed to do more studying but working nights at the Baratie was making it harder to do that. It didn't help that he had other priorities…

Suddenly, there was a noise down the far end of the alley. Sanji pushed himself off the wall and stared down into the darkness. He couldn't see anything, but he could hear something.
Slowly, Sanji made his way down the alley.

At the far end, the Cook could see five guys fighting: four on one, in what looked like a brutal fist fight. For the four ganging up on the other obviously.

The singular guy in question was holding his own ground yet his defence was sloppy and his attacks were weaker than what his body mass indicated. Sanji could easily see he wasn't fighting seriously. Or maybe he had been hurt badly and was trying not to aggravate any wounds. But from his movements the man looked well trained.
Sanji found himself betting on the sole fighter. He watched in silence as he took out the attackers with ease.

From the dim light of a security light, Sanji could see the man was smiling slightly – a sadistic grin that wallowed in the bloodlust. An opponent drew a knife but the attack was dodged, the blade gently brushing past…

Without thinking, Sanji launched himself into the fight. He managed to get in between three of the attackers as all four decided to attack at once. The first went down with a kick to the shoulder, the second with a kick to the solar plexus and the third a lovely attack to the man's unguarded shin. There was the satisfying crunch of bones breaking and howling in pain as the bullies went down. The first two grabbed the third by his arms and dragged him away in an attempt to save the shred of pride they had left.
Or just to prevent anymore, more serious, injuries.

Sanji chuckled to himself, slightly regretting kicking so hard. He could've done with a good fight to work out the stress of the day.

"That was fun," he laughed, turning to the other man.

He had his head back, his eyes closed, just letting the rain wash over his face.

Sanji hesitated. The man looked defeated.
It was like seeing a majestic lion, King of the wilderness, trapped in a cage at a zoo, the scars of circus training obvious across his body…
But at the same time, he almost seemed at peace. Accepting…

"Hey, you okay?" Sanji lit himself another cigarette, waiting for a reply. None came.
"Hey. Did they bash about you're remaining brain cell? I asked if you were alright." Okay, so Sanji wasn't being all that polite, but it had been a long day and he was tired. Sanji didn't have to help the man. But something told the cook that the hooded figure didn't even realise that he was even there. "Hey. I'm talking to you."

Slowly, the man lowered his head and fixed Sanji with a blank expression, his blissful smile long gone, his eyes unfocused slightly. The man tilted slightly, causing Sanji to reach out and grab the man's wrist to keep him from toppling back and smashing his skull on the alley floor. Not that Sanji cared or anything. But he'd just gone through the effort of helping the man beat off some thugs, otherwise it would just be wasted energy.

"Well?"

The man's face was partially covered by his hood making it hard to see all of his face, but that didn't really matter. Sanji just wanted to make sure that he could walk away by himself before he returned to the Baratie. It would be bad for business if the newspapers' reported that a dead body had been found behind his restaurant. And Sanji would probably have a guilty conscience.
Either that or it would attract customers, but most likely the wrong type.

The ones that Sanji would fight because they were uncouth, loud, irritating, rude- "What do you want Curly-brow?"
Just like this… "Bastard," Sanji voiced, his word no louder than an angry hiss. He had just helped this man and he had the nerve to insult his saviour. Without even offering so much as a 'thank-you.'

"They pulled a knife on you. Dumbass." Sanji clicked his tongue, letting the cigarette roll between his teeth as he talked. "And it was boring to watch some Neanderthal being bashed about," he said, smirking at his own insult. The man snorted in half attempted annoyance, staring down at his own appearance as if he was attempting to ignore Sanji. Or focus on something else… (Which was still ignoring the cook).
Sanji narrowed his eyes. How rude could this guy get?

Sanji was getting pissed off – angry that his suit was getting wet and this man's attitude was not helping. Anymore and he'd have to kick some manners into the asshole himself before billing the man the drycleaners fee.

"Let go asshole," the man growled, as if just realising that Sanji was holding it. He pulled on it, trying to loosen Sanji's grasp. The blonde had half a mind to release him but he wasn't one hundred percent sure if the man could stand on his own. Not that he should care or anything, he told himself.

However Sanji kept hold, running the mental list through his head again. It would take him another ten minutes to clear up, maybe five if he sped through everything and came in early tomorrow to finish up… "Come on, I'll give you a ride to the hospital."

"What!"

The man all but screeched the last word, jumping back as if Sanji had stabbed his with a cattle prod. He wrenched his hand from Sanji's grasp and Sanji hoped to god that he had imagined the gob of spit.
Yuck.

"I'm not going to some damn hospital for some stupid scrapes and bruises," he continued to growl angrily, like some cat with bristled fur. The man had taken several steps back, so maybe he wasn't as hurt as Sanji had originally thought. So at least he wouldn't have had to drive him to hospital, which was a bonus. But…

"Idiot, you've broken your wrist," the cook said, stabbing his cigarette towards the man's right hand, which he had been holding moments before. That much was true. He had felt the disfigured joint when he had grabbed hold of it. Sanji was impressed the man had been able to ignore the pain. Or he had trapped a nerve between the bones causing more problems. Either that or the bastard's head had been knocked one time too many and he had brain damage…
"It's nothing," the man began to argue, pulling up the injury to inspect it. He shrugged to himself as if broken bones was a common occurrence. Sanji took another drag from his cigarette, just trying to figure out how stupid this man was until he stepped back, cussing under his breath.

In one fluid motion – completely ignoring the break in his left wrist – he reached down and pulled off his black baggy hoodie, which had quickly become soaked from the rain. Sanji stared as the man revealed bright green hair, as if the man had a permanent patch of lawn attached to his scalp.
His top underneath somewhat stuck to his body from where it was damp from rain and sweat, clinging nicely to his chest, revealing toned abs and several tense muscles leading to slowly deepening creases between muscle that disappeared below the man's pant line.

But before Sanji could think of any insult to recover the blush on his cheeks, he noticed the sickly dark smudge of blood on the man's top. The white fabric shifted from the man's movements, giving Sanji a quick glimpse of the wound underneath. "Whoa dude you definitely need to see a doctor!"
Sanji jumped forward, lifting the top once more, he fingers ghosting over the three inch slash mark from the knife.
He was sure it had missed… that the man had dodged it.

How could he not realise he had been wounded this badly?

It didn't look too deep, but the amount of blood was already enough to raise concerns. The cook was too busy thinking how much gauze the Baratie first aid box had to notice the green haired man's face light up pink from the sudden closeness. Sanji's cigarette dropped to the floor, almost burnt out anyway as he stepped in slightly closer, trying to keep his thoughts medical and not instinctual.

"It's nothing," the man repeated in an obvious awkward grunt, attempting to pull his t-shirt back down to cover his bare patch of skin.
Sanji glanced upwards half an inch to the man's eyes. Was this idiot serious? Did he really hate hospitals that much? "Damn it moss-head," Sanji bit angrily, watching the eyes flicker for a moment. "Just listen or you'll- hey."

The man wobbled slightly, pulling concern into Sanji's voice. "HEY!"
The man full on fainted, his body heading towards the concrete floor. Sanji just managed to hook his arms under the man and force the weight onto himself. Now he was stood, torn between calling the ambulance and dragging the unconscious man back to the Baratie. It was empty now and the second option was definitely easier than having to explain to the police a fight which he was involved in – plus there was a knife involved and he didn't really want any extra dealings with them right now.

And that was why Sanji was sat in the back room of the Baratie, forcing the dumbass, who had come round a little, to take some pain killers. The asshole was grumbling incoherent excuses but they were just excuses just the same. "Look moss-for-brains. You either take the medicine and let me clean that wound, or I'll kick your sorry ass to the hospital." That shut him up.
The man took the offered glass and the two small pills, chucking his head back to gulp them down. He hissed in aggravation, but let his eyes slide shut.

Sanji was worried he was unconscious again but a nudged to the man's shoulder pulled a grunt from him. "Oi idiot you can't stay here. You have to go home if you're not going to A&E," Sanji said, directing a none-too-gentle kick to the man's shin. Somehow, even in his state, the grass-head managed to pull the limb away, causing Sanji to hit the chair he was sitting on instead. "Shut up," the man growled, his eyes still shut. "I'm tired and your bitching is keeping me from sleeping. So shut your trap."

Sanji narrowed his eyes, kicking out again and this time caught the man's leg. This man did not understand gratitude or, from what Sanji had experienced so far, had no manners of any level.
"No can do Mosshead. If the old man catches me letting strays sleep in the back room he'll kick me to hell and back. So I suggest you get off your ass and follow me to my car so I can drive us home."

It was the only thing Sanji could come up with. If the man was better in the morning, Sanji could kick him out the house and return to work with a clear conscious. If not, he would just dump the man outside the closest hospital and be done with him. Either way, he wouldn't be responsible for the man's death.

The green-haired man opened one lazy eye and fixed it with Sanji's. "I don't need no charity," he said, pulling himself off the chair. "Thanks and whatever but I'll just go home."
"And let you keel over from blood loss or blood poisoning from a dirty knife? I don't think so." Why the hell was Sanji getting so worked up? The man even offered to go home and get out of Sanji's hair faster, but the man's pride of helping those who needed it was forcing him to open his god-damn mouth and spit out things he'd rather just swallow, as the man walked off out the door.

"Wrong way moss-head. My car's that way," he said when the man made off in the direction of the alley. Sanji began to guide the man to his car with kick's to the legs and shoves to his body whilst avoiding the knife wound and broken wrist. The man started to protest, but Sanji shut him up with a fierce glare and an angry hiss. "Get your ass in my car before I do drag you to hospital."

It took Sanji three minutes to push the man in the car, clean all the blood from the backroom and then seven more minutes to drive home. It would usually take him about twenty minutes to drive, but the idiot in the passenger seat was taking a turn for the worse. His brow was glittering with sweat, his mouth hanging open slightly as he gasped for air. He was overheating and Sanji could see he was a lot paler than usual. Had he missed anything? Another stab wound? A concussion of some sort.
Maybe it would be better to take him to the hospital…

"Oi Mosshead. Don't you dare get blood on my seats," Sanji growled although his tone was more of concern than anger. If he could bait the man into an argument at least, it could keep him focused off the wound a little and keep him conscious. He didn't really want to carry the man into his apartment. It might look weird from some of his neighbours. "Just drive shitty blonde. And shut your trap. You're giving me a headache."

Sanji lived on the top floor of a luxurious block of flats.
By the time they arrived, the man was close to passing out again, meaning Sanji had to help him into the lift and then along the corridor to his flat. Keeping him upright with one hand and fishing for his key with the other, Sanji managed to open his flat and the two bundled inside, tripping over each other and landing in a flump just inside the door.

The flat was generously spacious for the price that the Cook had paid for it.
The front door led to a small room with a cupboard for coats and a rack for shoes. Beyond was a corridor with doors leading to the first bedroom, downstairs bathroom and the open plan living room, dining room and kitchen. Naturally, being a Cook, Sanji's kitchen was state of the art, with his fabulous double fridge/freezer, electric cooker and every gadget master chefs would only dream of having in their kitchen. In the living room was also a pair of stairs that led to the second floor. It was designed in such a way that a large walkway lined the top, meaning that whoever was upstairs (and not in one of the rooms) could see down to the first floor.
On the second floor was a second bedroom, the master bedroom plus on-suite, a second bathroom and Sanji's study.

After lots of grumbling from both sides, Sanji dumped the man on the sofa; who immediately rolled onto the floor, somehow missing the coffee table. It was as if the idiot was drunk.
Sanji didn't bother to lift him back onto the couch as he slipped out of his jacket, heading to the bathroom where his first aid kit was waiting. He returned to the man, who had sat himself up against the side of the sofa, trying to keep his eyes open as he glanced around. If he was impressed he stayed silent.

Sanji worked in silence, cutting away the white t-shirt with the first-aid scissors (it was ruined anyway), washing the wound with antiseptic before closing it with some weird glue like gel that he had bought because he was fed up of using steri-strips on all the cuts from kitchen knives. Once he had done that, Sanji padded the wound with gauze and wrapped the man's lower abdomen in a semi-tight bandage.

After the main stab wound was fixed (as much as Sanji could do) he moved to the man's wrist. He couldn't quite tell if it was dislocated or broken, but he still needed to set it…

Without saying a word, Sanji took the appendage and crushed it slightly. The green-haired man cried out until there was a definite pop sound and the cry turned to a deadly hiss. He fixed Sanji with a murderous glare but the Cook ignored him, grabbing his wrist support and putting it into place.
He washed the remaining scrapes in silence, applying a soothing ointment before asking if there was anywhere else the man was hurt. The answer was no.

The painkillers had done the trick and by the time Sanji had finished, the man looked almost content.

Sanji showed the moss-head towards the bedroom on the first floor. He simply stumbled to the bed, crashing down onto it without even bothering to pull back the covers or strip himself of rain-soaked clothes. Sanji huffed to himself and left the man in the room, preparing to clear up the mess grass-head had made with his blood.

By then Sanji had no energy to do anything. He had been planning to watch TV and relax but the incident had drained him. The blonde made his way to bed, making a fact to lock his door.
After all, he had met the man beating people up. Trust only went so far.

Sanji switched his bedside light off, laughing to himself as he realised, he didn't even know the bastards name.

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