Zoro had one friend. When she died, he had none. It didn't matter, because he needed to train. Needed to get strong. Needed to be the best, for her. He didn't need to be happy to succeed.
Zoro never lived at the dojo. He was there every day morning till dusk. Ate a meal if provided. Worked hard, first trying to beat Kuina, then trying to live for her. But his home was a knock-together shack he'd built in the woods. Four short metal walls and a roof. He only found it half the time.
Zoro ate whatever he could find. Fruit and nuts from trees. Roots and berries. Once a week Koshiro insisted on a day off. Zoro would take his pole made from a branch and a found hook, and catch as many fish as he could. Then he'd cook them all up over a fire until the outsides were blackened. It gave him enough to eat for part of the week.
When Zoro was sixteen, knew it was time to leave. He had to fight others to get stronger. Had to fight Mihawk to be the best. He traded his shack in the woods for a small boat, packed his fishing rod, and repromised Koshiro that he would become the world’s greatest swordsman or die trying. Nothing else mattered.
The day Zoro killed someone, a piece of him died with them. He knew he couldn't hold back, that it was what he'd agreed to when he decided to become a swordsman, to chase their dream. By his fifth death, he wished he could go back in time and choose a different path. But wishes were useless, and so would he be if he allowed doubt into his life.
Zoro's first time having sex hurt like hell, but he got a real bed for the night. He found that if he played his cards right, he could also get dinner out of the deal. It never really stopped hurting, but he stopped caring.
He disliked people who picked on others because they were on a power trip, who acted like assholes to those undeserving of it. Marines should go after pirates and criminals, pirates against pirates. Anything else was an abuse of strength and disgusting. He stood up when he saw it, sometimes to his detriment.
He took it as a challenge: starve for thirty days, prove he wasn't all talk. He'd gone hungry for as long as he could remember, anyway. It wouldn't be a big thing. His mistake was expecting someone who already abused authority to hold up their side of the deal. For a brief moment, as they were lined up to execute him, he thought good, he could do something better in his next life. He wouldn't mind being a fisherman.
Luffy wanted him because he needed a swordsman for his crew, but saved his life because he protected someone at the cost of himself. Zoro gave his oath to Luffy that day, because Luffy saw beyond the sword to the man beneath.
Zoro became a member of a pirate crew full of people with more heart and conviction in fairness and freedom from oppression that he sometimes questioned if they were pirates at all. But he stopped wanting to be anything else except who he was and started to feel content about it.
He ate, multiple times a day, full meals, good meals. He doesn't remember when he wasn't hungry for days at a time. But now he was always full, sometimes too full. He still took food to store in his trunk. Habits died hard. He was self-conscious about it at first, but then he saw the cook doing the same thing all over the ship. He wasn't alone.
Zoro unexpectedly learned that sex wasn't supposed to hurt, that it could feel really good with someone who cared about him. That the bed he shared wasn’t from necessity, but desire. What felt even better was the knowledge that he was loved.
Zoro had nine friends. All of them mattered, because without them, he wouldn't be strong. Wouldn't be striving to be the best. He wouldn't be happy.
And life without happiness wasn't a life at all.
End