He could only hear the sound of the knife chopping vegetables quickly in the kitchen, his crumbling, while the smell of the various dishes caused the captain's constant moaning, lurking outside the door with a blatant pout and his almost insatiable stomach that still grumbled again and again.
If he had not already entered, it was for the simple reason that before he tried, Sanji had placed himself in front of it as if he was a watchdog, looking at the captain rather crooked and threatening him not to give him food if he had tried, so as to prevent him definitively from setting foot in his so-called 'sacred place' and above all to annoying him, trying to steal part of it from under his nose.
He was already sufficiently distracted by his thoughts, he knew he would not be able enough to stop him in time, in the unlikely event that It had happened.
His brain did nothing but focus on the previous day and how he had woken up that morning: always in the infirmary bed, always in the same reassuring embrace.

It had been an extremely kind action on his part, he kept on saying to himself, with his gaze resting first on the work done and then in the direction of the entrance, although almost absent in the second case, almost expecting the swordsman to appear, passing her to ask about  Sake, which stopped him for a long time, only a little later taking control of the situation and his movements, throwing open the oven.
"I didn't imagine he could be this way ... And with me, mostly"
He bit his lower lip, running his tongue over it, sighing a little.
The pan, occupied entirely by a rather inviting roast, immediately peeked out, showing its slightly golden complexion on the skin and on the potatoes that decorated it, although not cooked enough to be ready, which he noticed with a small, small look.
So he went back to closing the electronic instrument and picking up various dishes, arranging them in an order that looked like a flower: one was in the center, surrounded by three others in the beginning that seemed to reproduce a triangle, then followed by another three, a little more distant and then the last four.
"Not bad," he said to himself, not indicating the dishes, but rather the memory of the feeling of the other's hands brushing his face, something he would never have imagined if not in the context of pulling his cheeks or giving him a slap or a punch, opening the eyelids and the mouth to realize what kind of thought he had done and ... denying instantly, insulting himself, lying to himself with the idea that he was referring to the pieces of pottery.

Because, after all, no matter how much he tried to concentrate on cooking all the dishes that were being prepared, on how much he wanted to be sure that their aesthetics were in the best shape, he couldn't keep the attention, this only because it was deviated cleanly, and kept going to throw herself on a certain swordsman, almost as if his brain was mimicking him and making fun of him for every time he had declared openly to feel attraction only and only for women, his Goddesses, his delicate flowers.
And he was taking it for the bottoms in a rather intense manner, as he simply could not fail to consider every single moment in which the aforementioned 'confession' had taken note, with the addition of the insistent image that he had found when he awoke:
Zoro, with a relaxed expression, his face at a minimum distance from his, with a hint of drool running down his chin and, of course, his strong, muscular arms clawed at his waist, at his sides.
At first he looked at him with shock and confusion, unable to understand why he was there, why he was hugging him and above all why they were in the same bed, blushing more than he would have liked to admit.
But then he had remembered everything ... And the redness had deteriorated even more, becoming of such a red that he could only be grateful for the fact that Marimo was still in the world of dreams.
Seeing him blushing like a schoolgirl in love for a few words put to the right level, a hug and falling asleep together? Never; he would have teased him for eternity, making a big, big laugh out of it, making him feel ridiculous, because... no, he wasn't a kid going to school - and he wasn't a little girl! He knew his own sex quite well, thanks, fucking okamas  - but above all ... He wasn't in love! No! Absolutely not!
He was just ... Embarrassed as hell ... Because he had let himself go with the person who never, definitely never, would have imagined he could help him.
He had, for a little moment, forgotten their rivalry and talked to him about something intimate, talked to him about his real thoughts and the other boy really listened to them, then reassured him and ... He practically caressed him.
He had embraced him.
He had taken his face in his hands and looked at him almost as if he valued him more than a nakama.
But, God, maybe he could have imagined it, that look.
For a moment he had assessed that the whole event had been all the fruit of his sick mind that had thrown him an even more sick fantasy, but then he had ruled it out, because just ... As he had already thought before ... he could never have imagined such an attitude on Zoro's part towards him, so it was excluded.

So, logically, trying to maintain at least a little of the sanity that he still had, he must have misinterpreted the look and nothing else.
Most of Marimo's actions had been carried out in the beginning to calm him and help him, not for anything else.
There was no hidden message, a something which he should have particularly worried.
There was only the relationship about two rivals between them, nothing more than that.
They were simply two enemy  slash friends who wanted to release their tensions, quarreling like two idiots by dint of kicks and sword strokes, always looking for the most ridiculous reasons to get annoyed and set off a challenge, argument or real fight.
Having deduced this, Sanji said to himself that he could calm down, stop lingering too much on the other's image as if he was evaluating everything in any of his shades... and above all, as if at in any moment he was ready to accept any other weirdness that would have come out of the swordsman's mind, even at a replay of this event.
And no, for heaven's sake, Zeff could have hit him over and over again if it had been so.
By putting things in order, therefore, what had happened would not be repeated, their way of doing things would never have changed in such a way, he would have stopped having Zoro to distract him every second of his existence and Sanji would not have been allowed to mutilate his brain more than it already was.
He was convinced of it.

Or so, at least, he insisted and that's it.
Because if he was really convinced, he would not have felt a slight annoyance at the idea of ​​the other that, a day before he became all that  kind and, maybe, the next day he returned to be the irritating and annoying Marimo who did not loose the opportunity to insult him - albeit the insults were not serious. I mean, come on. Curly eyebrows? Perverted cook? Could they really be called insults? They were only able to make him nervous, but they were more playful than real 'insults'. Insults were those that his family brought out. - and that despite the fact that almost three years had passed, he had never bothered to offer him even a compliment for his kitchen - was it really so difficult to say whether or not he liked what he was chewing? Ah, well, he couldn't know. He had no cabbage instead of his head, so it was impossible for them to think the same way. -.
"I'll just need ... Uh ... To get back things. Maybe it's just something of today, tomorrow and that's it. I could go back to the natural state with a nice ride on an island ... If only we could reach the next as soon as possible .. . "

All he could do was scratch his head lightly, ruffling his hair, rinse his hands immediately afterwards, remove the oven in which the roast was, arrange it as a centerpiece, add the other dishes all around, deposit the empty plates in front of each chair next to napkins, cutlery, glasses and call the whole brigade at the table.
The first to arrive, of course, was Luffy, who seemed to literally catapult himself into his chair, beating his sandals between them, with drool running down from his mouth and eyes that gleamed - all quite normal, if it was about food -.
Carrot, Robin and Nami arrived after Luffy.
The girls chatted cheerfully and seemed in a clear mood, which cheered the chef's heart.
Then came Franky, Brook, Chopper and Usopp, almost in pairs, sitting down at the table in a hurry to avoid the captain stealing their food before they could sit down.
And of course, as if to do it on purpose, the last to arrive was the Marimo, whose ugly snout showed a yawn, barely covered by the hand, but whose inquiring gaze returned to the attack, as if to understand if today he was okay or not , making him feel a strange flicker in his stomach.

N.d.a - how many errors?