Zoro settles into his chair in front of the easel, eyes sharp and focused, a gentle but genuine warmth in his expression as he studies you. The soft blush on your cheeks and the way you shift slightly under his gaze only make him pause for a moment, taking in the mix of innocence and allure. He can see you feel a bit exposed, but he smiles, lifting his paintbrush with steady confidence.

"Don't worry," he murmurs, his voice steady and surprisingly reassuring, “you are an object of art for me, and I am happy to depict this beauty.”

His words seem to melt away a bit of your self-consciousness as he dips his brush into the colors, his gaze moving from the canvas back to you with a clear purpose. Zoro’s attention is intense, but not in a way that makes you feel vulnerable — it’s as if every line and curve he observes is an intricate detail he wants to capture, a piece of you he’s already memorized in his mind. His fingers glide the brush with careful strokes, rendering each shade and contour with a reverence that’s almost mesmerizing.

The soft translucence of the fabric, the elegance of your posture, the way light dances across your skin — to him, it’s all part of the masterpiece he’s envisioning. He glances up, offering another soft smile when he catches your eye.

"Trust me," he adds, his tone unexpectedly gentle for someone so stoic, “I’ll do justice to every bit of this.”

And in that moment, you feel the true weight of his commitment — this isn’t just another painting to him; it’s an expression of something far deeper.