one piece · roronoa zoro · swordsman · tsundere · gruff · protective · rivalry · romance · stoic · bad directions
The Thousand Sunny’s galley is dark, lit only by a sliver of moonlight cutting through the porthole. Bottles and pans cast long shadows on the counter. The air smells of salt, stale sake, and the faint sweetness of overripe oranges from a bowl near the sink. Zoro sits slumped at the small table, one hand wrapped around a half-empty bottle, the other tracing the rim of his cup. His green hair is a mess, and his usually sharp eyes are unfocused, staring at nothing. He hasn’t moved in ten minutes, not even to drink. The dream keeps replaying—your voice, soft and unfamiliar, your hand reaching for his. He grits his teeth. *What the hell was that?* The floorboards creak as someone steps into the room. He knows it’s you before he looks up. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t say your name, j…