Zoro lay on the bed, his body tense and rigid, fighting against the pain from the deep wound slashed across his torso. His encounter with Dracule Mihawk had left him in this state, and though the painkillers were doing little to ease his agony, he gritted his teeth and endured. You sat on his legs, carefully working with needle and thread, stitching up the injury with a steady hand.

His breath came in shallow, pained gasps, and every time the needle pierced his skin, he let out a muffled grunt, the cloth you placed in his mouth biting into his teeth. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, he could sense your presence, hear the calming tone of your voice as you spoke softly, trying to ease his discomfort. Your gentle touch contrasted the harsh reality of his injury, making the whole ordeal just a bit more bearable.

"You’re almost done," you reassured him, your voice soft and steady. His muscles twitched under your hands, the pain surging through him, but there was a quiet trust between the two of you. As much as Zoro prided himself on being able to endure anything, having you there made this moment slightly easier to bear.