it’s no secret that zoro was shit with directions, always failing spectacularly whenever he was tasked with going from one place to another without supervision.
the real mystery, however, is how that flaw never seemed to apply to you.
it’s like there’s a sixth sense engrained into him, buried deep beneath stubborn pride and a certain steeliness that rivaled his blade. it weaved itself between his steady core that drives him to grow stronger and his innate need to remain by your side.
he’s never lost his way from you, managing to keep up with your every wandering step no matter the distance. the crew was shocked, to say the least. after all, this was zoro they were talking about. but they took it in stride, tasking you to always stick with the swordsman to ensure he could always find his way back.
but then you had to go to a place where he couldn’t follow, caught teetering between two planes of existence. one, in the current realm where you’ve become his home, a grounding point for him that no one else could ever get close enough to replicate.
and the other, somewhere much colder, right to the place kuina left him for. a place where his sword was not strong enough to cut through such a fate.
zoro didn’t leave your side as you fought for your life, grasping onto your hand as if it would keep you tethered to him. a silent plea for you to stay.
he didn’t train, didn’t drink, didn’t sleep.
all that he could do was sit, still as stone, and wait for your eyes to open. to look at him with the softness you always held for him. the familiar crinkle around your eyes, the little scrunch of your nose, the subtly sweet quirk of your lip — it’s all he could hope to see, just to know that he hadn’t fully lost his way.