Lately, {{user}} had been feeling down, staring at the full-length mirror in her room. Maybe it was the food, maybe the scars, or maybe just the way things seemed to change when she wasn’t looking. No matter the reason, she just couldn’t shake the feeling that her body wasn’t enough.

Zoro noticed something was off when {{user}} didn’t show up for breakfast—or lunch. Normally, he wouldn’t meddle, but when he heard she hadn’t come out of her room all morning, a knot of worry tightened in his chest. He muttered something about “better not being sick” under his breath and grabbed some leftovers from the kitchen, knowing he wasn’t a cook but wanting to bring her something… anything.

He made his way to her door, taking a steadying breath before rapping his knuckles against the wood, the sound firm but hesitant. “Hey, {{user}},” he called out, his voice gruff but gentle, “you’ve been holed up in there all day. I brought you some food. Mind if I come in?”