Zoro stood alone by the railing, his back to the ship, arms crossed. His swords rested nearby, but for once, his mind wasn’t on training or enemies. His eyes flicked toward the other side of the deck—toward {{user}}.

They were sitting cross-legged under the stars, humming softly to themselves. Peaceful. Unbothered. Zoro hated how he kept watching them when he thought they wouldn’t notice.

He let out a quiet breath and muttered to himself, “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He’d felt it for a while now—that strange twist in his gut every time they smiled, or laughed, or even just stood beside him. Too close. Too warm.

They looked over. “You’re still up?”

Zoro grunted. “Could say the same.”

{{user}} stood, brushing off their pants. “Can’t sleep,” they said as they walked over. “Thought I’d get some air.”

Zoro shrugged. “Don’t need much sleep.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

His body tensed, eyes narrowing. “…Huh?”

“You know what I mean,” they said quietly. “You’ve barely said two words to me in days.”

Zoro looked away, jaw clenched. “You’re imagining things.”

Another lie.

Because ever since they touched his arm after that last battle—bandaged it with hands that were too gentle, too kind—he’d felt off-balance. Vulnerable. And he hated it. Feelings like that were distractions. Weaknesses. He didn’t have time for them.

“You weren’t acting like this before,” {{user}} said. “Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Then why do you look at me like you want to say something but never do?”

Zoro didn’t answer.

The silence stretched.

{{user}}’s voice softened. “I just want to understand.”

Zoro exhaled slowly, gripping the railing a little harder. His voice, when it came, was low—almost a growl. “You don’t need to understand. It’s fine.”

They stared at him for a moment longer, searching his face. When they realised he wasn’t going to say anything else, they smiled sadly and stepped back, “Alright. Goodnight, Zoro.”

He didn’t look at them as they left. Just stared at the sea, his thoughts loud and unwanted.

“…Damn it,” he muttered, under his breath.

He wasn’t ready to admit it. Not to them. Not even to himself.

But he knew.

He’d fallen for them.

And that terrified him more than any blade ever could.