The numb ache in his jaw made him aware of a strong blow the blond's foot had just sent him. It was rapid and furious, and he was very familiar with it after a good thousand of matches they'd sparred together. The difference now was that the taste of blood in his mouth was too strong for a usual fight.

Zoro flickered his tongue over his steel-tasting teeth. One was missing.

"I'm fucking tired of your shit, you hear me!"

Returning his attention to the blond, Zoro peered into the enraged face. The face he'd used to see with a toothy smile or a crooked grin, a drunken blush or a shade of annoyance when those blue eyes rolled exasperatedly at Zoro's jokes. It had been angry sometimes – very often, safe to say. But every time they had fought, Zoro had been fighting with his blond. This face didn't belong to the person he knew, to the person he'd spent so many nights awake with, so many mornings, watching the golden dawn in comfortable silence.

Sanji was dead serious.

Still panting from the aftermath of the strike, Zoro peered into the steel-cold blue eye. Sanji's mouth began to quiver, forming that ugly writhe it always had when the man shouted on the edge on his rage.

But suddenly, the tense eye-contact between them was broken. Probably figuring out Zoro wasn't going to defend himself, Sanji turned his back to the man and lit up a cigarette.

Zoro watched the blond's back. He was wearing Zoro's old white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. No matter how much the cocky idiot was complaining about Zoro's rusty clothes, how often he demanded to throw all the old shit away, this particular shirt, despite being too broad for the skinny-ass blond, was Sanji's favorite.

"I'm going to pack my stuff." Sanji's voice became quiet. Cigarettes always calmed his flaming temper down. But the coldness was much worse than fury.

"Are you going because of this?" Zoro finally lost his temper. His jaw was pierced with dull pain as he snapped, and the taste of blood filled his mouth again.

"'Because of this', huh." The blond snorted, throwing his finished cigarette to the nearest ashtray. Without looking at Zoro, he moved to the bedroom, taking the white shirt off on his way and dropping it to the floor. Unconsciously, Zoro followed him, not sure what answer exactly he wanted to hear.

"Just because I'm fucking late for the date?" The green haired man glared at the blond's back from the doorway. Sanji was hurriedly throwing his clothes out of their wardrobe.

"Oh, fuck the date, fuck everything, but damn you, shit moss-head, you could at least-" the blond shot him a glare over his shoulder, his tone raising, "return home before midnight!"

He kicked off the sweatpants, quickly changing them to his black slacks, then picked the first unwrinkled shirt from the floor and started buttoning it. His thin fingers were working fast, showing Zoro the countdown to the point where he wouldn't be able to do anything.

The problem was, Zoro didn't know what to do.

"I already told you that Johnny and Yosaku arrived just today! They wanted to chat at the bar a little! I had no fucking idea they'd throw a fight and get sent to the police and I'd have to get their asses out of there!" Zoro's face flamed stronger with heat with every word until his voice rose into yelling.

Staying in the center of a mess, Sanji gave him a blank look. Usually when they bickered, the blue eye would watch Zoro with annoyance, maybe mockingly, but now it was a different look. Heavy, sullen.

"You're always like this," Sanji sighed deeply but without any relief. "'It's not my fault, it's Luffy! It's Usopp! Johnny and Yosaku are idiots who can't even save their own asses!'" After splashing his hands at his act, Sanji straightened. "I'm sick of your excuses."

"Damn you, Curly, I told you-" Zoro cut himself off instantly as comprehension flew into his head. Sanji's words sounded cold as if he'd already decided and there was nothing Zoro could do about it anymore.

Ignoring Zoro completely, Sanji packed his clothes and fled off to the kitchen, a big empty bag on his shoulder.

"I can't take all my shit now, so I'll send a courier tomorrow," the blond stated flatly, taking his pans and pots out from the drawers.

Zoro shouldered the doorway, silent, experiencing tough rawness in his jaw muscles. The blond had always been very careful with his pricey utensils, but now he was shoving them into the bag recklessly as fast as he could.

Closing his eyes, Zoro listened to the noisy clatter. It died out after a while, and he felt air moving by his side. The sounds from the door proceeded next.

"Thanks for the fucking best birthday in my life, bastard!"

A loud slam of the apartment door made Zoro flinch intensively. He kept his eyes shut, hoping it all was just a nightmare.