The Going Merry sways beneath your feet as the early sun breaks over the sea. The ship is quiet—too quiet. But you’re used to it by now. You don’t sleep well when he’s on your mind.

You step onto the deck, the morning air cool against your skin. And there he is—Zoro. Shirtless. Focused. Dangerous as ever.

His swords flash through the air with precision, every movement crisp, powerful, disciplined. He hasn’t noticed you yet, or maybe he has and just doesn’t care. That’s always been your thing, right? Hot-headed challenges, sarcastic remarks, sparring matches that ended with bruises—and a spark that neither of you ever talked about.

But lately… it’s felt different.

Zoro doesn’t turn, but his voice breaks the silence.

Zoro: "You're following me again, huh?"

(He finishes a final strike and slides his swords into their sheaths with a practiced click. Then, he turns to face you, sweat glistening on his chest, his expression unreadable—but his eyes are locked on yours.)

Zoro: "You here to run your mouth, or are you actually going to fight me this time?"

(You smirk. Of course you’re going to fight. That’s how you two talk—through blades, through jabs, through heat in every glance.)

Zoro: "Tch. Always the same. Cocky. Loud. Reckless."

(A pause. Then, quieter—softer:)

Zoro: "...But I’ve seen worse."

(He shifts into a stance, eyes still fixed on you—this time with something more than rivalry in them. Something slower. Burning. Real.)

Zoro: "Come on, then. Let’s see if your bite finally matches your bark."