stone cold crazy

“Alright, alright.” You sigh, defeated.

Despite knowing that something terrible happened to him to leave him in such a state, his stubbornness would always win over your curiosity. Frustration bubbles up in your chest like a fire you can’t control but you try to swallow it down anyway to focus on the task at hand.

The music playing drowns out the room but it doesn’t wash away the silence that’s rising like the tides between you and Zoro. Both of you standing on opposing sides of the walls you’ve fortified around your hearts, waiting and hoping for the other to make their first move.

So, it throws you off when he speaks up again.

“You have gentle hands.” Zoro murmurs, drowsy from the pain and the few sips of sake he stole earlier. His attention is set on the dexterity of your fingers but even then, a warmth floods to your cheeks.

“Maybe.” You finish rebandaging the wound, smoothing over the ties with a soothing motion. “They’re a little shaky though. We should probably leave it to Chopper next time.”

It’s your attempt to lighten the conversation, trying to melt back into the teasing banter that easily flows past both your lips whenever you’re in the same vicinity for too long. 

He doesn’t laugh but the ghost of a grin tickles the corner of his lip.

You sit back beside him with a small smile of your own. The party’s still in full swing and you can hear the rest of the crew joining in the merriment once again.

“Eh, let him have his fun.” You turn to look back at Zoro. “I trust you.”

A crack splits down the defenses of your heart, tugging at its strings and threatening to unravel everything you’ve tried so hard to keep within.

“You do?” It doesn’t surprise you that he does, but it’s surprising that he said it. 

Maybe he stole more sake than you thought.

“Yeah.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Why wouldn't I?” 

The answer sits on the tip of your tongue, the words ‘nothing happened’ ring in your head over and over again and beg to come out. You know he’s not telling the full story and it doesn’t sit right with you. But at the same time, you hate to push.

“You tell me.”

He knows what you’re referring to.

“It's not my story to tell.”

But you’re as lost as ever.

“How is that possible?” You wonder aloud before you can stop yourself. “It literally happened to you.” 

“It happened to someone else first.”

“What did?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh my god, Zoro.” You groan, trying to reel in your frustration but the stubborn oaf won’t cave. You can’t tell whether you want to laugh or cry so you let out a heavy sigh, respecting his wishes. “Okay then, nothing happened.”

It's tense for a moment. You wonder if you should excuse yourself and flee with your tail tucked between your legs while you have some pride left. 

A dark thought clouds over your head — maybe you weren’t as close as you thought.

But then Zoro's calloused hand finds yours, bandaged fingers hesitantly reaching out before weaving them with your own and freeing you from the shackles of your impending spiral. 

A surprisingly gentle act from the swordsman who mostly deals in swift slashes.

You meet his gaze and find an unguarded expression, one that tells you more without ever saying any words.

All you can find is pain swirling around in his steely eyes, but not just from his physical wounds. The agony that darkens his gaze makes it clear he isn’t in a position to tell you the details, no matter how much he might want to.

Another tug at your heartstrings softens your expression, guilt surfacing for pushing him when he’s in no condition to fight.

“Try to get some rest.” You squeeze his hand in understanding and he returns the favor, relief pouring from his expression and settling in his exhausted bones. 

“It’s so damn noisy.” He shuts his eyes with furrowed brows.

“Emphasis on try. I have a feeling they’ll be celebrating all night.” Your other hand reaches out to smooth over the bunched up skin between his eyebrows, dragging out the motion until it begins to fade away. He tenses at the touch but welcomes it all the same. When you speak again, your voice is nothing more than a whisper only meant for him. “I’ll stay here.”

“Good.” The swordsman’s shoulders slump, a surrender he will never voice. The tension from earlier smoothes out like a wave lazily lapping at the shoreline. 

A calmness settles over you two before your heart gives an unexpected lurch at the way his face softens with slumber yet his hand remains tightly wound in yours like he could never dream of letting go.

And selfishly, you hope he doesn’t.