He spends the day idling away, watching the sky and the clouds and the waves. He sits up at the crow's nest, or eats some ice cream in the kitchen where Sanji yells at him for making a mess when he draws on the table top, and smears chocolate over his cheeks like a tribal tattoo. Sanji makes him clean it up, and he pouts and complains that he is hungry – but is later offered a lollipop by the disgruntled cook.
He presses his face against the fish tank, or he rolls on the grassy deck, watching Ussop tinker away with whatever, and listens to his stories. Ussop's voice goes from loud to soft to loud again, and is in tune with his hammer or the click of a screwdriver. Ussop's thick hair springs up from under his bandana, and he squints along the length of his nose.
He rests his chin on the arm rest of the chair in which Robin is sitting, and he watches her read. The spine of the book is creased from being reread, and sometimes Robin meets his eyes with a shadow in her own before it fades and she matches her smile with his.
He lies down flat on his back and watches an upside-down world of Nami drawing a map. The paper is crisp and white, and the ink blot that drips from the tip of her quill to its surface spreads rapidly. Each line drawn is exact and swift, and her eyes are filled with the outline of the world.
He laughs at Chopper when the doctor panics after he swallows some neon-green liquid. It didn't taste like anything, and Chopper made him eat something else before chasing him away from the medicine cabinets.
Franky is polishing the Shark Submarine when he wanders around the ship, and with a cola-powered Super holler, refuses to let the tiny Merry-go out before giving her a new paintjob.
He finds Brooke to play him a song, and he dances along the deck and all along the ship. He is joined by Ussop and Chopper, and the wind whistles along.
He watches the rise and fall of the waves along the hull of the ship as he dangles his arms over the side. The surface of the sea is dark and light, darting patches of shades that sprinkle rainbows on his face.
He likes the feel of the ocean; on his ship, it is the closest that he can get. He remembers horror when he is in the water, the salt burning his eyes, forcing precious bubbles of air from his throat.
He recalls the heavy hand that pulls him down and down, filling him with the sparkle of light of light from the sun that lies somewhere far away. In the water, the world is reversed, and the surface becomes so solid and impenetrable.
He likes the feel of the ocean, and sometimes the sensation of drowning is enough. Drowning in the tears of his Navigator, the fear of his Sniper, the loneliness of his Doctor, the isolation of his Cook, the destroyed past of his Archaeologist, the songs of his Musician, the strength of his Mechanic, and the blood of his First Mate.
Zoro's eyes always used to be so clear but now they are clouded with something that he doesn't understand. But on cold nights, lazy afternoons, easy mornings, he seeks out the Swordman and snuggles into his warmth.
It is different from the kind of drowning that he can indulge in, the kind that chokes him and makes his eyes burn, fills his mouth with a bitter taste, makes his heart rage.
But it's this kind of drowning that he loves.