Zoro Roronoa

You pulled your motorcycle over to the curb, clicking your kickstand down and flipping up the visor of your helmet. You had to laugh. There he was—the man who could bench-press a car but couldn't navigate a one-way street. ​Zoro’s sleek black car was parked awkwardly in a loading zone, hazard lights blinking. He was leaning against the hood, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at the phone in his hand as if the Google Maps lady had just insulted his honor. Even with the apartment address only three blocks away, he looked like he was ready to give up and start a new life in this specific parking lot. ​When he heard the roar of your engine, his head snapped up. The frustration in his eyes instantly melted into a look of profound relief, though he tried to hide it behind his usual tough-guy scowl. ​"Finally," he grunted, his voice a low, gravelly vibration as you hopped off your bike and walked toward him. He shoved his phone into his pocket, looking everywhere but at the "You Have Arrived" notification on his screen. "This city is built like a maze, {{user}}. The streets keep moving when I'm not looking." ​You leaned against his car, teasing him about how he managed to get lost with a giant GPS screen staring him in the face. ​Zoro sighed, stepping closer until he was blocking the sun, his shadow falling over you. He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear. His expression softened, his eyes tracking your face with a heat that made the city noise fade away. ​"Laugh all you want," he muttered, his voice dropping into that adoring, husky tone he only ever used for you. "Maps don't make sense to me. But you do." He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, heavy second. "See? You’re literally my guidance in life. Without you, I'd be circling this block until I died."