Me: For the record...*I own nothing, but I feel like the title could be offense to some people. Guys you know I mean no harm and I know this is not a joke, so please don't let yourself feel bad. As far as titles go, I couldn't think of anything. I've never known anyone with hemophilia (a rare blood clot disorder).* Please enjoy and review to tell me if you want more!

"Please make sure your shoes are off before going to your assigned area," Koshiro reminded, quieting the atmosphere. Zoro begrudgingly watched from the corner as several children clouded the dojo's training room, most of them no older than nine years old. Koshiro, although almost sixty, still chose to teach the local kids in the neighborhood himself instead of passing it down to his much younger, and equally skilled, adoptive son. Wadou Dojo had to be the most active place in New York City, besides cafes and arcades. It seemed as if the history of martial arts would live on forever. Zoro folded his arms lightly. He's made it perfectly clear over the years that the longer Koshiro taught, the greater risk of possibly ending up with a broken hip one day (what with how abnormally strong kids were getting lately) grew, but his failed attempts at succeeding the building and occupation only accomplished getting Saga, his brother, hired in his place not even a week later. Said person was teaching teenagers in the next room at this very moment, though that class ended fifteen minutes earlier. The older man would continuously brag and boast, but Zoro didn't let it get to him. After all, Zoro wasn't the one still living with their father at the age of twenty-four.

Yes, it was obvious that Koshiro never would give him a job there, no matter how much he pleaded. Sensei realized just how fragile Zoro was at an early age; when Saga purposely pinched him to keep him from stealing one of his rice balls. The moment an overly large purple bruise began to form on his small forearm, Koshiro rushed him to the hospital. The question remains of why his birth parents hadn't said anything when he was handed over.

The adoption center claimed Zoro was abandoned by the curb with a note attached to his small, thin blue blanket, listing his name, birthday, weight, etc. Could they just not have known, or did they think it wasn't something worth mentioning? Zoro didn't conversate about them at all, though therapists claim any young child should have questioned the location of their parents at least once in life. The old man never pressed about the matter; Zoro would speak whenever he was ready, if he ever was, which was unlikely at this point in time.

Once the "Grasshopper" class ended, one of the smallest students ambushed the green haired boy's leg, almost knocking him off balance. Big brown doe eyes beamed up at him, accompanied by an adorable grin. Zoro smiled warmly as he patted Chopper's head. He knew how hard the kid wanted to embrace him, but he had to hold back for Zoro's sake.

"Did you see my stances? Did you? I'm getting better!" the boy practically shouted.

"Yeah, you are. Maybe you'll take me on someday, eh?"

Chopper gave a horrified gasp, "You know full well I can't. I-I don't wanna hurt you!"

"Trust me, you won't, buddy. Not with your expertise."

The boy giggled, obviously blushing in pure happiness, "Your training put me over the top for sure."

"Excuse me?"

Zoro cringed at the voice behind him. Damn, Saga couldn't have had more impeccable timing. He was such an ass sometimes, and judging from his cocky tone, this was going to be one of those times.

Chopper noticed the distraught look on his friend's features, and pieced together the situation. He panicked, on the verge of tears, "Oops, I'm sorry! I didn't-"

"It's not your fault, buddy. You did nothing wrong," Zoro ruffled his shaggy hair lovingly, ignoring the man giving them both a vicious cold stare. No wonder the children followed instructions so perfectly. Zoro sure as hell wouldn't want to face the consequences.

The smile adorned on Zoro's lips stayed bright, assuring Chopper that everything was fine. Saga watched with a scowl, shaking his head in disapproval, "Just wait til Dad finds out."

"He's not going to find out," Zoro clarified, "Not unless you've got a sudden death wish."

"Ha! That's so cute! You think you could take me and win!"

"There's nothing cute about a man that could send you to your grave, dumbass!"

Chopper had stealthily sulked away from the two as his aunt called, quietly bidding Zoro a goodbye. However, the siblings were too preoccupied shouting threats at one another to notice. Everyone soon scurried out the door, mostly for the fear of getting caught in the brewing whirlwind. Those two could clear an entire building with just an intimidating sneeze. It was no surprise they had such a violent reputation.

"Why do you always have to be a damn squealer?! I'm not doing anything that even concerns you!" Zoro growled lowly; he heard shuffling in the next room. Koshiro was coming back and he'd rather keep his voice at a minimum.

"It does. You'd end up ass backwards in anything you do without me. God knows what you've taught that kid."

Zoro felt sick to his stomach. It annoyed him to no extent how his brother never tried to connect with the children. He didn't even bother to learn their names. How could he brand himself an excellent educator when none of the kids had the courage to request extra help from him? Zoro roughly prodded Saga's chest through the white kimono, a fit of rage slowly seeping in. "That kid has a name, and I bet I've helped him understand the basics more that you have!"

A firm hand clasped around his shoulder, still and waiting. Zoro automatically knew it was an order to turn around, but anxiety wouldn't allow him. Saga's rage-filled expression grew smug and expectant before he exited the room, chuckling. Zoro mentally slapped himself for not being more aware of his surroundings as Koshiro deeply cleared his throat.

"Hey...Sensei. En-Enjoying your tea?"

"Yes. In fact, I'm enjoying it so much that I'm going to fix up a cup for you in the kitchen," Koshiro gave a chilling smile, "Care to join?"

"I-I actually need to head over to Luffy's..."

"I gave you a chance, Zoro. Now I insist you join."

The boy sighed inwardly as Koshiro led the way. Tea isn't really his favourite beverage either, to make matters worse.

The kitchen was about the size of the guest room with a jade interior design. Blue banana tree leaves stretched across the walls vertically, along with a few splashes black kanji. This room held nothing but memories, both good and terrible. Koshiro never touched the tea bags, Zoro noticed, he went straight for the refrigerator. As he hoisted himself on the bar stool, a can of cherry soda slid toward him across the counter. The silence between them was imminent. Zoro waited patiently, tapping fingernails on the marble countertop. Koshiro figured he would be the one to speak first.

"I heard everything," he claimed, "I already know."

"Chopper needed help and there's nothing dangerous about that!"

"He was wielding a sword!"

Zoro scoffed, "Made of wood."

"Look, I only ask that you take care of yourself and be cautious. I worry about you the most. Saga can handle his own."

"I can handle my own as well, Sensei," Zoro abruptly stood, causing the stool to wobble. "I'm not a kid anymore. I rent an apartment-"

"That I pay half of."

"-I have two jobs-"

"You're a litter picker and you work at McDonald's."

"-and I'm a responsible pet owner."

Koshiro placed his hands in the sleeves of his evening robe, "Responsible? Bon lives with Ace, and when was the last time you went to see that so-called cat of yours?"

Zoro avoided direct eye contact. It has been a couple of weeks since his last visit. The poor feline must miss him terribly. Koshiro pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation, a familiar gesture Zoro had gotten used to over the years. It indicated that he was reaching his limit. Zoro knew how much stress the other could hold from previous observations, and he'd rather not get burned by the fire this time.

"I'm sorry for making you worry, Sensei. I suppose I should...tone down my more risky actions," the green haired teen rested his chin in his palm lightly, still choosing to stare blankly at the sloppily stacked mug coasters in front of him.

A small humorless laugh shook Koshiro's shrunken frame, effectively confusing his son. Was it something he said that caused such a painful sound? "Why do you call me that? You're my son, not one of my pupils. You've never once called me something as simple as 'dad,' you know."

"That's...that's because, um," Zoro felt his face flush with embarrassment, "You're my teacher. You taught me everything; how to talk, walk, write. I feel as if I'm bound, as if addressing you as anything else wouldn't add up to how much I respect you."

Surprisingly, he was brought into a gentle embrace with the other cradling the back of his head tenderly. Koshiro's laugh was less sadden and more genuine as it vibrated his shoulder. "Oh, my son. Who knew the violent, competitive toddler I've come to love would grow into such a fine, slightly often challenged, gentleman?"

"Oi!"

"What? Can't I make a few funnies?"

Zoro laughed as he grabbed his soda and waved his father farewell for the day. He needed to give Ace his sword books back before the older flew to Santa Bay this weekend. Hopefully Luffy was there to answer the door, even if it meant his very presence endlessly pestered the cat.

~T~

The work day seemed incredibly quiet today, although Zoro partly blamed it on it being eight in the morning. Most people were at gyms or actual coffee shops. No one wanted their off-brand brews or greasy burgers after waking up. Hell, just smelling the grills and fryers made him sick. Not every McDonald's was the same, of course, and Zoro was positive this one had to be at the bottom of the barrel. Faded brick walls inside and out, chipping wooden tables, broken sinks, and the uniform; oh, how he wished he could tear off the orange visor that clashed with his hair.

He arrived earlier than ususal, thus finding Mr. Morgan in the break room. His handless wrist completely fascinated Zoro, but asking about it was out of the question. Poor Helmeppo; the damned fool only survived a day here.

Mr. Morgan grimaced once Zoro entered, his entire demeanor taking a sharp turn downhill. Did anyone on earth brighten this guy's mood?

"What are you doing here...Sir?" Zoro harshly bit out the formality.

"It's my damn restaurant. I'll drop in whenever I feel like it!" Mr. Morgan sighed, scratching his chin, "And also because we might be shutting down in a couple of days."

"What?"

"I was gonna wait until everyone showed up, but you'd give me that dopey look until I explained, right?"

Zoro felt a vein twitch. No need to pretend with this jerk anymore; it was useless to keep kissing ass. If he was fired, so be it. "Fuck you, boss," he sneered.

Who'd have thought that would cause a laugh?

Zoro continued to stare as the cackling man gave him a rough pat on the arm. He had no idea what was happening. Normally his smart mouth got him into severe trouble with snide remarks, it certainly never entertained people.

"Well, look who finally grew some balls in this place! You're the first one to stand up to me. Feel strong, maggot?"

"Uhh...I'm not fired?"

"You're on janitor duty until we close, so no."

The nerves in Zoro's hand spasmed, itching to punch a wall. On the bright side, he wouldn't need to stand at the register, dealing with moody, inconsiderate customers all day long.

Speaking of inconsiderate, a tall, slim blonde burned a hole through the murky glass window with his gaze alone, staring daggers at Zoro as he walked towards the dining area. He appeared to be disgusted by one thing or another; his three piece, wrinkle-free suit he wore made Zoro automatically assume he was some kind of high critic. Though, critic or not, the guy needed to learn at least an ounce of manners.

So, bordering on polite, the green haired boy scowled, flipped him off proudly, and stalked behind the counter. The shocked, disrespected look on the other's face was enough to make Zoro almost bust a gut. His features twisted up into a bitter grimace; his nose wrinkled as if the expression was made ob a daily basis. He dared him to come inside and start something; Mr. Morgan would tossed him unabashedly into next week. But that's not necessarily something Zoro wouldn't mind watching on his lunch break. In fact, the teen urged the stranger on, mockingly making a "come hither" gesture with his index finger. The blonde man mouthed a string of (assumed) curse words before stomping off towards a blue car across the street. Needless to say, Zoro was proud of his pointless accomplishment.

"Why don't I see a mop handle MOVING out there, maggot?!"

It was then that he realized no one else came into work yet, meaning he was stuck with Mr. High & Mighty for God knows how long. Where the hell were the so-called employees of this shitty establishment?

~T~

A long, vengeful week passed since Zoro was technically laid off, and he noticed a dramatic decrease in his savings. Even now as he brutally stabbed a torn plastic cup with his poker and stuffed it in his burlap satchel, Zoro tried to think of local places that were hiring. Besides, he wasn't sure how long he could keep this late-night-cleaning bit up. He was loosing a lot of time he could've spent napping, or finishing schoolwork. Nevertheless, he had to make some type of income. Koshiro shouldn't have to pay rent entirely.

He sighed and softly pulled on his light purple jacket's hood. Enies Park, possibly the largest park in the city, was littered with several kinds of trash. Bottles, wrappers, clothes, bags; the formerly green grass had died ages ago from the constant neglect. Benches were raggedy, trees whitened and hollowed out, and Zoro was almost positive the playground's sandbox sucked in a few kids before. Did people have no respect for the city, or did they purposely attempt to waste Zoro's time?

Although the only purpose of this job was to clean, it was extremely harder than it turned out to be, especially if the wind currents were strong. Like today, for instance. Zoro groaned loudly as laziness wanted to overtake him. He didn't feel like chasing after grocery bags, or tackling loose juice boxes.

Spotting a runaway piece of newspaper, Zoro lunged for it, but a black dress shoe appeared in between the attack at the last moment. It was so unexpected; the conflicted teen didn't really have the chance to control or stop his arm.

A low scream sounded above him, forcing his gaze upwards. "Ouch! What the fuck is your problem, shithea-" the tall man blinked, struck speechless for a second, "YOU!"

"Me?" Zoro questioned with a couple mindless blinks of his own. Did this guy know him?

"Yes, you! You're that rude fucker from that sleazy grease trap," the stranger claimed angrily, crossing his lean arms over his slightly broad chest. It amazed Zoro how little detail the suit showed, but he could still define a great mass of muscles underneath the layers. He was too busy studying the other to even drag out a sensible reply.

"Oi, I demand an apology," the blonde shouted once he hadn't been answered. Zoro shook his head quickly, his cheeks heating up slightly.

"Oh," he shrugged, bowing two inches toward the ground in a sluggish posture, "Sorry for kabobing your foot."

"That's not what I was talking about."

Zoro rose, "Then apologize for what?"

"For flipping me off as if I were some kind of creep!"

Zoro couldn't fight the chuckle, "Your words, not mine."

The stranger pushed his chest roughly out of annoyance, forcing his lungs to momentarily cease working. He could already feel the massive pressure swelling under his skin. There would definitely be a mark. "O-oi! You're the one who started it."

"I 'started it'? What are you, twelve?"

"Look who's talking! I didn't resort to violence yet!"

"'Yet'?"

"'Yet'!"

"'Yet'?!"

Zoro growled, "Yeah, 'yet'!"

The second hard push made Zoro's hood fly right off his head, and just as his anger meter sky rocketed, the bastard in front of him had the nerve to laugh. "What?!"

Mr. Critic held his sides comically, gasping for air, "I just...didn't know Marimos could talk."

Marimos?

Mari-

Oh.

Oh. That asshole.

Zoro realized what was said, and it hit him like a boulder. The stranger didn't look much different than a common American. "You're...Japanese?" the teen questioned with genuine curiosity.

The other man seemed taken aback by the sudden turn of the conversation, and hesitantly nodded. "My mother was. What's it to you, grasshead?"

Zoro fumbled for something on the other man to criticize, but that proved to be difficult. He was damn near perfect. Almost shoulder length, sun-golden hair, icy-no, ocean like orbs Zoro could drown in, a bit of groomed facial hair, thin, spiralled eyebrows, lean legs.

Wait.

Zoro grinned, quickly brushing the blonde fringe of hair hiding his left eye to the side, discovering something utterly valuable.

He couldn't breath from how hard his laugh bellowed. They were going the same way, too! "Says curlique!" he cackled.

Mr. Critic lashed out at him, yelling vulgar threats and spewing reasons why people should keep their hands to themselves, one of them included privacy. Zoro was far too amused about how flustered he made him, a bright pink flushed his pale skin up to his ears. This guy wasn't as macho as he thought.

For the second time in his life, Zoro saw the oddly attractive man stomp his way down the concrete path, and out of sight. Zoro faintly wondered if they would ever see each other again in this ridiculously big town, and if all they would ever do is bicker like grumpy old men who've fought for years.