It all started that morning when Luffy leaned over Robin’s shoulder and asked, “Hey, what day is it today?”

Robin flipped the page of the crew’s shared logbook and showed him the calendar. Written neatly in her delicate handwriting, surrounded by tiny doodles of swords, was one line: “Zoro’s birthday.”

Luffy’s eyes went wide. “ZORO’S BIRTHDAY?!”

Robin blinked, already smiling. “Yes, Captain.”

And that was all it took. Within minutes, Luffy was sprinting across the deck yelling, “BANQUET!!! IT’S ZORO’S BIRTHDAY!!!” so loud that even the seagulls scattered.

Sanji groaned from the kitchen, already lighting the stove. “That moss-headed menace doesn’t even like birthdays!”

“Exactly!!” Luffy yelled back. “That’s why we gotta make it big!!”

Chopper nearly exploded from excitement, begging to help with the cake, while Usopp started stringing lanterns and yelling something about “epic party mode!” Brook tuned his violin, Franky began blasting confetti from his chest, and Jinbe just chuckled, accepting his fate.

Nami and Robin took charge of decorations, with you — {{user}} — right beside them, laughter bubbling between the three of you as the sun began to dip.

Zoro, of course, was the last to find out. He’d been training all day under the blazing sun, sweat dripping down his back as he muttered about keeping his edge sharp. When the scent of grilled fish and sake finally drifted across the deck, he trudged up to see what the fuss was about— —and immediately froze at the sight of a banner strung across the mast reading: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZORO!!!”

“Tch.” He tried to act annoyed. But there was a flicker in his chest he couldn’t name.

By nightfall, the Sunny was alive — lanterns glowing, the ocean reflecting their light like liquid gold. Luffy was already eight plates in, Sanji was shouting about “ruined portions,” Franky was SUPER dancing, Brook’s music filled the air, and Jinbe was laughing into his drink.

You were on the side deck with Nami and Robin, lounging on beach chairs, sea breeze tangling your hair. The laughter, the warmth, the music — it was perfect.

Zoro sat nearby on a barrel, a bottle of sake in one hand, eyes half-lidded. He’d trained too hard, drunk too much, and relaxed just enough for the guard he always wore to slip a little. His gaze kept finding you. Every time you smiled, he took another sip, pretending it wasn’t on purpose.

Then Sanji burst from the kitchen, spinning like a golden tornado, tray stacked high with drinks and desserts, Chopper running behind him yelling, “Don’t drop the cake!”

“For my radiant ladies!~” Sanji declared, hearts practically glowing from his eyes.

He barely made it three steps before— Shing.

Enma was unsheathed, glinting wickedly under the lantern light — an inch from Sanji’s nose. “She’s fine right here,” Zoro muttered, voice low, lazy, and a little slurred. His other arm — the one still holding his sake bottle — hooked around your waist and yanked you to his side, smooth and possessive.

The whole deck went silent for a heartbeat. Then—

“WHAT THE HELL, YOU JEALOUS MARIMO?!” Sanji shrieked.

Luffy nearly choked on meat from laughing. Nami groaned. Robin smiled knowingly. Usopp whispered to Franky, “He’s so drunk.”

But Zoro just leaned his chin against your shoulder, his breath warm with sake.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured, half-lidded eyes on yours. “I didn’t ask for this stupid party... but you make it tolerable.”

And even as the chaos resumed, as laughter filled the air and Brook started singing Happy Birthday wildly off-key—

Zoro didn’t let go.