Mixed Up (ZoSan)

I Hate Your Guts on Sunday

Sanji woke up the next morning feeling bad.

Not in a sickly sense, though his headache hadn't gone away and his body was sore from where it had bruised from the fight he'd had with Zoro. He felt bad in terms of his character, as though he'd done something spiritually wrong and deserved to be reprimanded for it.

And he did, he realized; he'd been incredibly rude towards Zoro when he'd asked for money, and although he didn't feel apologetic in the slightest, (really, it was the punk's own fault for offering a ride in the first place), he did feel that his character had suffered for refusing to pay him. He knew that, if circumstances had been changed, and he was the one giving rides to Zoro, he would have wanted money for it, too, and would have pitched a royal fit if the ungrateful bastard hadn't at least compensated him for the spent gas.

Lying in bed, he stared up dismally at the ceiling and thought about the unfairness of life.

Yesterday's bad manners, he thought, could be written off due to the fact that it was Saturday and he had no real control over himself on Saturdays because of whatever unfortunate curse it was that plagued him. If he had, he probably wouldn't have been 'fired', and his car would still work, and then he wouldn't have even needed to meet Zoro in the first place.

And oh, shit, his fucking car.

He groaned miserably and turned over on his bed to lie face down on his pillow. Even if he hadn't been fired, Saturday's curse would still have carried over into today when it had damned his car's battery. Those things didn't fix themselves.

Which meant he'd need a ride to an auto store.

Turning his face to the side, he glanced at the digital display of his alarm clock and noted that it was only 6:30 in the morning. He'd had a late night, and tiredly closed his eyes again to get some more rest.

Obviously, he would deal with his problems later.

When next he woke, it was at the much more reasonable hour of 10:30. He felt groggy as he sat up and yawned, but ignored it as he stood and stretched his back. He casually dressed himself in the clothes he'd worn yesterday and went into the bathroom that connected to his room.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror listlessly and began to brush his fringe into place with his fingers. He looked paler, somehow; tired, even though he'd just woken up. Faint, dark circles underlined his eyes and the goatee he was growing looked unkempt and unprofessional. He looked like he needed a cigarette.

Though it was an unofficial rule, smoking in the apartment units was typically frowned upon by the Thousand Sunny Acres staff and could land the tenant with a fine if they were caught. He hated having to go outside to have a smoke, but was left with no other choice. He grumbled to himself irritably as he trudged into the main living area of his apartment and looked out the window.

One of the perks of living in an apartment on the ground floor, he'd found, was that he was able to see everything that went on in the parking lot. He didn't consider himself to be much of a snoop, but it was handy when it came to watching out for women.

He was hoping to see one of the ladies he occasionally smoked with as he put on his overcoat and tapped on his shoes, but he scowled when he saw instead the face of the punk he'd lately become all too familiar with.

Zoro was outside, standing around aimlessly and looking bored on the sidewalk that lined the parking lot. Sanji sighed as he fished his hand into the pocket of his coat to withdraw his new pack of cigarettes, and paused when his fingers were met with the small baggie of weed that'd been thrust upon him last night instead.