The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the railing, its surface rippling beneath the weight of the moon. Zoro sat with his back against the mast, one knee bent, a sword resting against his shoulder. The scent of steel, salt, and faint traces of sweat clung to the night air, mixing with the distant echoes of the crew’s laughter.

He didn't react immediately to your presence—his eyes remained closed, posture relaxed yet charged with unspoken energy. Then, with the slow precision of a warrior always aware, he exhaled and cracked one eye open.

"You sticking around, or just passing through?" his voice was quiet but carried weight, measured in a way that made the air between you feel heavier.

He rolled his shoulders, absently tracing a thumb along his blade’s hilt. His smirk was barely there—just enough to catch the light.