Whereas before, he did it anywhere, anytime, in any position, under any circumstances...

now...

Roronoa Zoro just wouldn't,

couldn't,

and didn't want to,

go to sleep.

+

"Oi."

Zoro scarcely even glanced up at the idiot before him. He attempted to glare, though, and fuck did it feel weirdly...painful. Next thing he knew, a black sort of dizziness had surged over his eyes and momentarily half-overcame him. He shook his head twice.

It was almost some disturbing shit, not sleeping.

Zoro figured this was probably what it's like to have the hell out of his head flogged a thousand times over.

"I said, 'Oi,' shithead."

Zoro moved, finally, sliding his arm off the top of his bent knee, but still wouldn't dare unstick his eyes from the floorboards, or bother with any sort of direct response. A growl rushed out from under his breath, however, when the front of a shiny black shoe more than nudged him solid in the chest.

"Asshole! Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

But at this point, that was exactly the last thing Zoro'd be compelled to do. So he bolted up from the floor, managing to catch himself before his suddenly-sissy knees gave in, and, still adamant at keeping his stinging, weary eyes far and away from the idiot, stalked off across the deck.

"Leave me alone already, you fuck," Zoro snarled, in a mostly soft voice, though he didn't really give a hoot if the idiot heard him or not, anyway.

+

Sanji was almost certain he felt his eyebrows curl tighter as he watched the groggy dickhead walk away, and caught his snarled utterance.

"The fuck do you mean by already?" he spat, teeth gnashing around his cigarette, but was ignored entirely, much to his increased disgust.

The tall, cool glass of lemonade tinkled on the little tray held by his quaking hand.

That asshole.

Why, Sanji's only intention, notwithstanding that he couldn't help but detest himself for having even humored the thought, was just to proffer a sleeping pill-spiked drink, in hopes of putting an end already to the idiot's visibly miserable struggle with insomnia.

It'd been five nights now. Shit, yes, Sanji was a fool enough to bother and count. ...and notice, at that.

If that oafish marimo-head continued to miss sleep at this rate, he could most certainly end up committing something even beyond stupid, like getting his stubborn sleepy ass beat up,

or even, killed,

in case a random horde of well-slept enemies came for the crew all of a sudden.

...

Not that it'd break Sanji's heart or anything.

...Shit, of course not.

But it'd be sure to bother the others, Nami-san, especially. Sanji couldn't possibly allow the black shroud of mourning upon her just because that idiot was stupid enough to die before he could pay her back her money.

"Fucker." Sanji scowled at the stupid green hair across the deck as it disappeared around the corner, before turning on his heel to head back to his kitchen. He tapped ash from his cigarette, nodding to himself.

Alright, then. He'd just try again later. And a third time, and a fourth, if he had to, until he made sure the idiot got some fucking sleep finally and stopped making him...

'Fuck you, asshole. Who's worried.'

+

Zoro paused to listen to the idiot's calm, retreating steps.

"Good," he muttered. "Just leave me the fuck alone forever." Then he bent down, sluggishly, to pick up his weights that sat against the railing, and began to lift the now-seemingly hefty suckers. The sea before him was a hazy vision of mostly black and white.

He shut his eyes, breathed deep, "One, unh, two, unh, three..." and started counting up to 1,000 weight lifts.

It was potentially disastrous, to keep training like this, without any sleep at all to counter his exhaustion. Sure, sleep preserved his energy, at the very least. If he still had any desire at all -- and of course he did -- to keep his promise of becoming the strongest, greatest damned swordsman the world has ever known, he'd be a fool to do without it.

Sleep was, in a sense, his salvation.

Massive lack of sleep, therefore, could translate ultimately to his death.

Then, goddammit. He'd just have to adapt from now on, and go and discipline his body to rid itself of the need for slumber. Nothing to it, ch'.

...

Besides...

if, by some outrageous twist of fate, Zoro did die from not sleeping,

well, hell, he could take it.

Dying didn't scare him shitless, anyway. If it boiled down to it, he'd rather face death in the eye...

...than the many, vivid images

of that stupid love cook, out of his clothes, with him, naked, beside him, beneath him, above him, him and Sanji, touching, thrusting, grinding, sweating, kissing, Sanji's skin, his tongue, his stark yellow hair, his knees, the back of his knees, his ankles, his dick, his fucking left eye, Sanji, not stupid, not irritating, but beautiful, just goddamn beautiful,

in his dreams, those fucking dreams,

every goddamn single time he'd gone to bed those three straight nights,

just before he'd resolved to keep awake forever.

Because Zoro just didn't know what he might do,

to himself,

and to Sanji, especially,

the next time he woke up from such a dream again.

And that, fuck it, was just a hell of a lot scarier than anything.

END