The afternoon sun spills across the deck as you move between crates, the faint metallic swing of your new earring catching the light. Zoro leans against the railing, arms crossed, but his eye keeps dragging back to you again and again.

He narrows his gaze. That shape… that cut… it looks way too much like something a swordsman would choose. Every step you take, it flashes, taunting him with its familiarity.

He tries to ignore it. Fails. Tries again. Fails harder.Eventually, he pushes off the railing and walks closer, eyes locked on the glint beside your cheek.

His voice comes low and blunt at your shoulder. “When the hell did you start wearing something like that?”

You keep moving. The earring swings again.

Zoro’s brow twitches, and he mutters under his breath. “…Tch. It looks too much like mine.”