Strong hands held you down, but your body still thrashed. There were sounds, but you couldn't register them as your arms and legs tried to claw away the darkness. Anything to break through the barrier that was consuming your words, your wail, your sorrow. You deserved at least to be able to vocalize your sorrow!

"(Y/N)!" Zoro barks, louder and sharper than you've ever heard him before.

Your eyes snap open and you heave in a huge breath. Your lungs burn, you'd been holding your breath for some time, and maybe that's why he had yelled.

Zoro was on top of you on the couch. He'd pinned your legs with his own and had laced his fingers into yours, trying to hold your arms without hurting you, letting them flail in a controlled manner. It had taken him too many long minutes to wake you up once he realized you were having a nightmare, and he was breathing heavy, his face covered in sweat.

You took a moment more to realize you had been dreaming, and a second after that to realize your situation. You open your mouth to ask a question, but your voice won't form. You remember the events of the day, and the dream, your chin trembles, and your eyes burn, but you keep from crying.

"You were having a nightmare." Zoro says, his tone softer than the concerned snap from earlier. Mihawk was there, but it looked like he had just arrived in the room with you and his son. Zoro untangles himself from you, shifting carefully so he doesn't put too much weight on you, and stands beside the couch. Offering a hand, he helps you sit up.

You're shivering even though you're not cold, the nightmare clinging to your mind despite knowing you're awake. Awake, and in a world where Zoro is alive.

The idea of him dying because of you makes the tears come up regardless of your desires, and you curl on yourself and sob soundlessly. Aside from the occasional sniffle or hiccup, you can't even form sounds of sorrow, and that makes the nightmare feel all the more real.

Zoro sits down beside you, putting his arms around you and rocking slowly back and forth with you. He doesn't say anything, he doesn't make any sounds, he just stays with you. It takes a long few minutes for you to calm down, but no one says anything against you for it. The only thing your greenette does once you seem to be done is move enough to hand you a small box of tissues.

Mihawk sits nearby, but still, they don't say anything. It strikes you that they're giving you the chance to speak first, even if the manner of that speech is through your writing. You make a motion with your hands like you're writing on your notepad. You can feel Zoro shift enough to stretch out and pull the items off the coffee table before handing them to you.

"SORRY."

Zoro clicks his tongue. "Don't apologize for having a nightmare." He growls, tearing the page off and crumpling it up. You move your arms and legs and then look up at him with concern. His face turns pink, but his demeanor doesn't improve. "If you're implying you hurt me, then you can apologize for that."

"Talking about a nightmare can help dispel it." Mihawk offers.

You make a face, but you try. You can't really figure out how to organize the disconnected feeling that dreams leave people with, but you decide to just focus on the important parts. There's no need to go admitting that your dream mind had likened Zoro to the sun.

"Dreamed about Kuro. Parents died. Adoptive parents died." You stop writing for a moment, your hand shaking, but you manage to scrawl the words despite it. "Zoro died."

You held it out to Mihawk first. The elder man pulls the page off the notepad and reads over it a couple times at least. You could feel Zoro beside you, tensing, like he wanted to ask what was written on it, but he had learned a long time ago not to press his father.

"That's a terrible nightmare to have." Mihawk says finally, and his sharp gaze is drilling holes into Zoro as he hands the page over to his son.

Zoro's fist flexes, and you feel anger bubble up in him, but before it bubbles over his fist relaxes and he lets out an aggravated breath. He hands the page back to you and covers his face for a minute, still keeping one arm around your shoulder. He takes a few deep breaths, and growls a little, but after a minute he's managed to at least tuck away his anger.

"I won't lo-mffph." Your hands were over his mouth, surprising him and Mihawk. The look on your face made Zoro flinch, but he didn't get angry. He puts his hands over your wrists and pulls your hands away gently, leaning forward and kissing your forehead. "Sorry. With what's happened, I get it."

Before you can write anything, your stomach growls with impressive volume, and your face goes red. There's a smirk on Zoro's face, but he manages to get it under control quickly. You punch him in the shoulder and then pick up your notepad and write on it.

"ANGRY."

"... At me?" He questions and looks concerned for a second before you shake your head.

You scribble on the notepad and when you're done Zoro does laugh. It's the first time you've heard him laugh so fully and you start playfully smacking him until he starts apologizing. You can feel Mihawk's gaze on the both of you, so you turn to him and show him your notepad. Your face is still red, and your cheeks are puffing out in your indignation.

<<ANGRY. My stomach can talk, but I can't.>>

To make it worse, you catch the glimmer of a smile on Mihawk's face and narrow your eyes at him. He doesn't risk a chuckle, but the smile stays, and he ruffles your hair as he stands up.

"He's just relieved you weren't mad at him." Mihawk says, explaining his son's laugh at your expense as he walks out of the room. "Food will be ready shortly. Might I suggest you two consider at least sleeping in the same room tonight. If Miss (Y/N) has another nightmare, she could end up severely injured."

You and Zoro exchange glances. You'd be more embarrassed by the idea if you hadn't just napped together on the couch for however long you had both been out. You could see pink rimming his ears as he looks away and so you pick up your notepad writing something that causes your own face to go a little pink and then held it up to him.

"I feel safer with you nearby." You admit.

"Alright." Zoro replies, scratching the back of his head absently as you set your notepad down. "I'll setup my room after dinner."

You grab his hand in both of yours and smile up at him before you kiss the top of his hand. You turn to head off into the kitchen, when you feel his arms wrap around you from behind. There are a lot of emotions tied up in the embrace, on the heels of your smile, and you stay like for a long moment. The feel of his breath against the back of your neck, the weight of his forehead on your shoulder, and the warmth of his existence bring you comfort.

"We'll get through this." He promises. His voice is soft, but it's low and steady. He's not being flippant or full of bluff and bravado. There's determination in his voice, weight to his promise, and you can feel it.

You nod, and nuzzle your cheek against his hair, staying there in that embrace for just a little bit longer before the smell and sound of food beckons you both.

Dinner passes quietly. You're not entirely sure if Mihawk and Zoro simply had always eaten in silence, or if their lack of conversation was due to your situation. You had spoken a bit during meals before now, and they had responded, but no one else seemed inclined to start up a conversation. You'd never gotten the sense that speaking during the meal was frowned upon, neither of them hinted at the least bit of aggravation.

Whatever the case was, it wasn't awkward. There was a strange comfort in the soft click of cutlery as you all worked your way through the meal.

After the meal there was a short conversation between the three of you. Mihawk suggested it would be best for Zoro to take time off work, along with you putting the Library on hold again. Partly due to what Officer Smoker had suggested, but also because it would be a good reason to start training you in the martial arts of the dojo.

It had two effects – it got you into the training you had been interested in trying, and it gave you something to do while you were effectively on house arrest. Not that anyone called it that, but as far as you concerned, that's what it felt like. It was more like house protection, but the end result was pretty much the same. At least the dojo was so big it took up the entire city block, so there was plenty of room to stretch out, and you had your own little library.

You had felt guilty for a moment, thinking that Zoro would miss out on a job he took pride in, just because you were stuck at home. But his response to Mihawk was that he had already decided to do just that. He was, after all, voluntary, so there wouldn't be any issues with him taking time off.

.
.
.
.

Zoro opens the door to his room and steps aside, allowing you to enter first. You had both traded off on taking baths again, sitting outside and waiting for the other. Now you were in your pajamas, a spare pillow in your hands as you step inside his room.

It was almost exactly as you had expected. There wasn't much in the room, spare dumbbells, a set of swords on display on the wall, just enough furniture to keep his clothes organized, some figurines from comic books and tv shows, and two futons on the floor. The room smelled of bamboo, sandal wood, and steel, and that was expected as well.

"Well?"

You set your pillow down and pull out the notepad.

"It suits you." You write, and smile as you show it to him. He grunts, and even in the dim light you're pretty sure his ears are pink.

"If you feel uncomfortable you can go to your room. I didn't move your futon." He explains, closing the door and stepping into the room.

You write on the notepad, tear the page off and hand it to him.

"I trust you. I feel safer near you. You won't do anything I don't want." There's another grunt as he reads the note, but you realize he hasn't crumpled it up and tossed it like almost every other note. He set it on the dresser as he takes off his shirt.

Your eyes go wide, and you can feel the heat rush up into your face. Watching his muscles move as he goes through the motions and his arms coming back down to his sides. You hadn't ever been particularly concerned about the anatomy of another person before, fit or otherwise, but you felt a strong pang of guilt for ever associating the word "Muscle Head" with Zoro. He was fit, yes, but he was neither wiry nor bulky.

There was just something aesthetically pleasing about the balance of whatever it was he did to have a body like he did. He turns toward you, catching your flushed face, and you see a lazy smirk pull at his lips.

"Do I need to leave the shirt on?" He questions, amusement in his voice.

You shake your head slowly, walking up to him. You had wanted to touch him, or hug him at least, but when you got closer you saw the scar that ran along his chest, and your fingers slip along the line of it before you could stop yourself. He didn't move away, or flinch. He just watches your fingers trace over the line of the scar.

When you reach the end of it, you close the space between the two of you, and hug him, pressing your ear against his chest. You could hear his heart beating quickly in his chest, despite his calm demeanor, but it wasn't alarming. In a way it was comforting. After a moment he returned the hug, loosely wrapping his arms across your back.

You take a deep breath and let out a sigh, taking a step back and grabbing your notepad. Your hand shakes a little as you write, and you can feel Zoro's eyes on you.

"I want to show you something." He nods after reading the note.

"Alright."

You turn your back to Zoro, and lift your night shirt up and over your shoulders. Four long scars mark your back, filling the space just under your shoulder blades and just above the small of your back. There's a chill that runs up your back, and you realize that Zoro is angry. It's not directed at you, but it's rolling off of him in waves even though he's not making a sound. You want to apologize, but you feel his hot hand against your back and you freeze where you are.

"You were five." Zoro's voice was barely above a whisper, and yet the rage in it was like the surface of the sun, but rougher. Like meteorites screaming across the night sky – hot and harsh cutting into the darkness without mercy.

You pull your night shirt back down and turn to face him. There's no look of fear or worry on your face, only something akin to expectation. He leans down, tilting your head up gently with a finger under your chin, and kisses you. It's firm, gentle, and full of a promise.

A promise from the sun, in the light of the moon.

A/N: Alright, that's 7,500 words in one day. O_O