Chapter Text
The cold wind blew through the open windows of Mihawk’s massive mansion. The night was dark, the stars barely visible under a thick layer of clouds. Zoro sat slouched over at the large wooden table in one of the many rooms. The candlelight flickered across his face, casting shadows over his scowl. His hand gripped a half-empty bottle of liquor, the taste already dull to him after so many.
Another swig, the burn of the alcohol hardly noticeable anymore. Zoro’s thoughts were loud, but the silence of the mansion echoed louder. He wanted to stop thinking, to drown out the memories of Luffy’s voice, his laugh—anything that reminded him of the idiot he had left behind. He took another long drink, leaning his head back against the wall behind him, trying to force the images of Luffy away.
“You’re not going to improve your swordsmanship like this.” Mihawk’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and cold. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Zoro with those hawk-like eyes that seemed to see through everything.
Zoro didn’t look at him. “Not training right now,” he muttered, barely lifting his gaze from the bottle.
Mihawk raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room. “I can see that. And yet, here you are, wasting away. Why? I thought you had a goal. Something more important than drinking yourself into oblivion.”
Zoro’s grip on the bottle tightened. He knew Mihawk was right, but it wasn’t that simple. Nothing felt simple anymore. Not since that day on Sabaody. Not since he swore he’d become stronger for Luffy. And yet… everything was so quiet here, without the crew, without him.
“I’m going to be stronger. I just…” Zoro’s voice faltered, rare for him. He didn’t know how to explain it, not in a way that Mihawk would understand. How could he explain the weight in his chest, the way his heart ached when he thought about Luffy? How could he explain that his strength had always been tied to his captain, to protecting him?
He gritted his teeth, taking another drink to stop the memories from surfacing. Luffy’s grin, his reckless optimism, his stupid faith in everyone. Damn it.
“You’re running,” Mihawk said, his voice low and piercing. “From something.”
Zoro slammed the bottle down, the force making the liquid splash over the table. “Shut up,” he growled. His hands shook slightly, and he clenched them into fists to stop it. “You don’t know anything.”
Mihawk studied him, eyes narrowing. “I know enough. You left that boy to become stronger, but you won’t even face yourself. How do you expect to protect him when you’re afraid of your own thoughts?”
Zoro’s jaw tightened. He hated how easily Mihawk could see through him. Hated how he was right. He was running—from the thoughts that haunted him every night. Thoughts of Luffy, lying beaten after Marineford, helpless as he watched Ace die. The same Luffy who had looked so small, so broken. The same Luffy who had always been Zoro’s reason for fighting, for getting back up.
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “This has nothing to do with you,” Zoro snapped, grabbing the bottle again. He tried to walk past Mihawk, but the older swordsman blocked his way.
Mihawk’s gaze was as cutting as ever. “You’ll never be the swordsman you want to be if you keep carrying this weight. Whatever it is, it’s holding you back.”
Zoro stared at him for a long moment, fists clenched. “I know,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t the training that was hard. It was the waiting. The not knowing. The fear that when he finally saw Luffy again, he’d still be too weak to protect him.
He pushed past Mihawk, stumbling slightly as the alcohol buzzed in his head. Outside, he could hear the faint sound of rustling leaves and distant waves crashing against the shore. But it wasn’t enough to drown out Luffy’s voice in his head, calling his name with that stupid, confident grin on his face.
Zoro took another swig from the bottle, but the alcohol did nothing to numb the ache in his chest. He closed his eyes and leaned against the cold stone wall of the mansion, feeling the weight of his swords at his side.
Luffy. His hand drifted to his swords, fingers brushing the hilts. He had sworn an oath to that man. To become the strongest swordsman. To be someone Luffy could rely on, no matter what.
But right now, all he could do was drink. Drink until the world stopped spinning and the pain dulled. Until he stopped thinking about that day at Sabaody, when they had been torn apart. Until the memory of Luffy’s beaten form didn’t make his chest feel like it was caving in.
He took another drink.
In the distance, Zoro thought he heard the faint echo of Luffy’s laugh, but when he opened his eyes, he was still alone.