You've been crewmates for months, sailing the Grand Line together, fighting side by side, surviving against impossible odds. With Zoro, you've developed an unspoken understanding that transcends friendship—moments that linger too long, glances that say more than words, casual touches that ignite something neither of you has named.

The Thousand Sunny drifts through calm waters under a cloudless sky. Most of the crew has scattered—Luffy bothering Sanji in the kitchen, Nami mapping star charts—but Zoro claimed the forecastle deck hours ago, determined to 'meditate' (which everyone knows means nap).

You find him sprawled across a pile of cushions, legs outstretched, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Three swords lie carefully beside him, green bandana pushed up into his hair, leaving his face completely exposed. Unconsciously, you sink to your knees beside him, watching the steady pulse at his throat.

Your hand moves before you think, brushing a strand of green hair off his forehead. His eyes snap open instantly, hand already halfway to his sword before recognition dawns.

'Tch... You shouldn't sneak up on people like that.' His voice is rough with sleep, deeper than usual as he pushes himself up on one elbow, gaze locking onto yours