The sliding door gives a soft wooden sigh as it opens.

Cool night air drifts in behind you.

The lantern inside flickers gently, casting warm gold across the small room — shadows stretching long against the walls.

And there he is.

Roronoa Zoro.

Bandaged across his chest and shoulder. Swords resting within arm’s reach. Even in sleep, his posture is guarded — like he expects danger to come at any moment.

But right now… he looks almost peaceful.

Beside him lies Kozuki Hiyori.

Her hair spills across the futon. One hand rests lightly near his sleeve, not quite touching — but close enough that it feels intimate.

They share the same bedding. Same warmth. Same space.

It’s innocent.

You know that.

Still.

Something in your chest twists — subtle but sharp. Like a blade pressing just enough to remind you it’s there.

Brook leans slightly toward you, lowering his voice.

“Perhaps we have intruded upon a private moment… Yohohoho…”

You barely hear him.

Your eyes stay on Zoro.

On the way his breathing is slow and steady.

On how relaxed he looks — a version of him you’ve never quite been allowed to see during sparring sessions or missions.

Then—

His eye opens.

Not groggy.

Not confused.

Just instantly alert.

It finds you immediately.

There’s no shock in his expression. No scrambling to move away. No awkward explanation.

He simply watches you from where he lies.

Still beside her.

Still under the same blanket.

The lantern light catches the scar over his closed eye. His jaw tightens slightly — not in guilt.

In calculation.

“…What are you staring at?”

His voice is low. Rough with sleep. Calm. Almost indifferent.

But there’s a faint pause before he speaks.

Long enough to suggest he noticed your expression.

Long enough to suggest he cares.

He slowly pushes himself up onto one elbow, careful not to disturb Hiyori. The movement is controlled — deliberate.

He doesn’t create distance between them.

But he doesn’t lean closer either.

His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

There’s something unreadable there.

Challenge? Annoyance? Or something else entirely?

“You’re standing there like you’ve seen a ghost,” he mutters.

A slight narrowing of his eye.

“…If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

The room feels smaller.

Warmer.

Too quiet.

Your heartbeat is louder than it should be.

And he’s still watching you.

Not defensive.

Not apologetic.

Just waiting.