You open the wrong door again—Zoro’s room. He’s on the floor, arms folded behind his head, swords nearby. You freeze, ready for a grumble or glare.

But he shifts, making room beside him.

“Stay.”

You sit, unsure. Minutes pass in quiet. He’s awake—one eye open, watching the light dance across the ceiling. No words. Just presence.

You start to rise.

“…Don’t go.”