The party was long over. The ship drifted under silver light, quiet except for the waves.

Zoro sat against the railing, sake in hand, moonlight softening his scars. You joined him without a word. He passed the bottle; you drank. The silence felt easy.

The sea murmured. A gull cried far away. He looked different like this — calm, almost gentle.

You said something that made him huff a quiet laugh, rare and rough-edged. You laughed too, and the sound hung between you, warm against the night.

Then he turned, eyes steady, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low — and what he said would stay with you forever.