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Zoro doesn't cry.

It's not out of pride, ego, or to maintain appearance. He just can't. He tried a thousand times.

He tried every time the world felt too heavy. He tried when he felt like he had failed his friends. He tried for two years on that island. He tried when tiredness drove his mind through all the things he ever did wrong. He tried under his soft touch. He tried when he was filled with joy, surrounded by defeaning laughter, by people who loved him. He tried when the waves came crashing against the hull, and the rain poured so violently that no one would see his tears.

He tried and always failed, he once was crier but not anymore

He fought Kuina through tears of rage because whatever he did, she did better.

He cried while training on his own, from frustration, from pain, from exhaustion.

He cried of joy when he saw her struggle for a second, or when she complimented him.

He cried with laughter until he couldn't breathe as she knocked down adults down their asses.

Then he cried. He sobbed. He wailed. He weeped until he was just a ball of raw nerve. Body exhausted, mind overwhelmed, crying tears he didn't knew he still had, soaking her tombstone with his pain.

He kept training, eyes red, heart heavy from her absence, body aching.

Suddenly, he stopped crying. Maybe because he didn't have any tears left, maybe he made a promise to her and to himself, maybe he just couldn't deal with the tears anymore.

He bottled it down. He put a lid on it, weighing down harder every time it tried to come out.

It took quite some time, it asked him a lot of energy, but it slowly became a reflex. Until he didn't even have to think about it.

Until crying wasn't even an option anymore.

But now he tries. He tries when his heart ache. He tries when he's so exhausted that the worlds feels a little too much. He tries when rage consumes him from inside. He tries to welcome them every time his face his buried in his neck, and he feels safe.

His nose still stings. That lump still crawls up his throat. That burden still weight heavy on his chest, shortening his breath. His eyes still glisten for a split second, his jaw trembles, his lips quivers.

For a brief moment, he can graze it.

That sweet relief.

Until his jaw clenches. That lump creeps down, tensing every muscle from his throat down his chest. He still can't breath, he trained himself to swallow back his turmoil and keep on going.

He can't go on with tears blurrying his vision, or emotions clouding his judgment.

He can't protect anyone if he is overwhelmed.

He doesn't cry, and maybe that's why he drowns himself in alcohol more often than not. That's why he goes very quiet from time to time, distancing himself from his friends.

Sometimes, he catches himself, wondering if he'll cry in case something happens to his friends.

He sure hopes so.

For now, his inability to cry might be for the best. If he starts crying, he may not be able to stop, and that scares him more than any fight he could ever face.

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