He comes to her the way trouble does; announced but unseen.
Hear how his swords shift at the hip, heavy and real, the kind you feel in your spine when you carry them long enough. Then his boots, thick soled, and worn down beneath—chewing away at the distance sat between them.
There was a bottle in his hand.
His mouth pressed to it like it had something to confess. And he drank it in deeply, faithfully, as if the bottle had owed him.
Some generous fool had gifted it to him, and he made sure to honor their gesture with his whole heart.
/ Also, yes, I know Zoro isn’t actually the first mate of the straw hats… I just couldn’t think of anything else to put in for the aesthetics.. Guh,,,,,