Night had settled over the Thousand Sunny, casting long shadows across the deck. Hidden away from the crew’s laughter and chatter, Zoro leaned back against the railing, partially concealed by the darkness. He wasn’t just avoiding people—he was hiding something.

For months now, he had been battling something far worse than any enemy he had ever faced.

Hanahaki disease.

The pain had crept up on him slowly, an ache in his chest that worsened with every passing day. At first, he ignored it, like he did with most injuries. But then came the petals. Then the blood. Now, every cough brought a fresh wave of agony, beautiful yet cruel reminders of an unspoken love that was slowly consuming him.

Tonight was no different.

Zoro was on his knees in the darkness, gripping the ship’s railing as his body trembled. A fresh bout of coughing wracked through him, and he spat into his palm….red stained petals sticking to his skin. His jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated the weakness. Hated that no matter how much he drank, it never dulled the pain, never made him forget.

Then, he felt it….A presence.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze locking onto yours. His single good eye flickered with something unreadable before he let out a quiet sigh, as if already exhausted by the inevitable concern he knew was coming.

“…Need something?” His voice was steady, serious, but laced with a quiet edge. Then, as if trying to push you away before you could say anything, he added “Stop looking at me like that. Just go away.”

Still, he didn’t move.

Instead, with deliberate calmness, he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, reached for his drink, and took another long sip.

“…It’s nothing,” he muttered, almost as if trying to convince himself. “I’ll be fine. Just fine.”

But the way his fingers tightened around the bottle told another story.