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There was nothing. No sky, no ground, no walls, no light, no dark. Just nothingness stretching in every direction. Doflamingo had lost count of how long he had been here. Seconds? Centuries? It made no difference in a place like this. He had fought, he had conquered, he had ruled. And then, he had lost. When death came for him, he expected fire, chains, perhaps even the sound of his enemies laughing. Instead, he had found himself in this void, stripped of his throne, his name, his power.
Then, after what felt like eternity, something changed.
A faint sound.
A familiar hum.
His breath caught as he turned towards it. There, seated on the nonexistent ground, was a man draped in white and gold; a tattered feathered coat in his lap, needle and thread in his hands, carefully stitching loose strands back together.
Rosinante.
Doflamingo took a step forward. His lips parted, but no words came out. His brother didn’t even look up.
“I would've been happy,” Rosinante said, his voice calm, as if he were speaking to the wind rather than to him. “Just laying on the grass with you, on a hill, watching the stars, for my entire life.”
The rhythmic motion of his hands never stopped, pulling the needle through soft, weathered feathers, repairing what had long been torn.
“I think most people can name something extremely tame and simple that would keep their mind at peace forever,” he continued. “It’s interesting, don’t you think? That we’re so often driven to chase something extra that we abandon what we already saw as perfect.”
Doflamingo stared, his body rigid. He couldn’t decide what disturbed him more; the fact that Rosinante was here, or the fact that he was speaking without a single trace of anger or resentment.
“I built everything,” Doflamingo finally rasped. His voice was hoarse, as though it hadn’t been used in ages. “I clawed my way out of the dirt. I created an empire.”
Rosinante hummed again, nodding faintly. “You did.”
Doflamingo clenched his fists. “Then why did I end up here?”
For the first time, Rosinante stilled. He set the coat down gently in his lap and looked up. His eyes were the same as before; soft, tired, but filled with something deeper. Something Doflamingo couldn’t quite name.
“In hindsight,” Rosinante murmured, tilting his head, “it always seems to end up as a matter of perspective.”
Doflamingo’s breath hitched.
He wanted to sneer, to laugh, to throw some sharp remark, but the words never left his tongue.
Because, in the end, he already knew the answer.
Rosinante turned back to his sewing.
Doflamingo watched him for a long, long time.
Doflamingo’s breath grew uneven as he took another step forward, his vision tunneling on the man before him. His fingers twitched. Before he even thought it through, his hand shot out and grabbed Rosinante by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward. Rosinante barely reacted. The needle in his hand stilled, dangling loosely from the thread. He blinked up at Doflamingo, his expression unreadable.
“The fuck is this?” Doflamingo snarled. His grip tightened, fabric bunching in his fist. “Is this hell?” His voice cracked, raw from disuse. “Is this my torment? Are you here to be my executioner? My judge?”
Rosinante tilted his head slightly. “Is that what you think I would be?”
Doflamingo’s jaw clenched. “Don’t play games with me.”
Rosinante sighed, as if exasperated. But his eyes… they were softer than they should be. Softer than Doflamingo deserved. “I never wanted to judge you, Doffy.”
The old nickname stung, more than it should have.
Doflamingo bared his teeth. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”
Rosinante stared at him for a moment. Then, slowly, he pried Doflamingo’s fingers from his shirt, one by one, with the same care he used to pluck loose feathers from the coat in his lap.
Doflamingo let go, though he wasn’t sure why.
Rosinante smoothed out the wrinkles left behind, then resumed his slow stitching. “You always think in extremes,” he murmured. “Heaven, hell. Judgment, damnation. You think of everything in black and white.”
Doflamingo’s hands curled into fists. “You died because of me.”
“I did.”
“I-” He swallowed. “I should be the one rotting, not you.”
Rosinante finally looked up at him again. There was no hatred in his gaze, no anger, no retribution. Just something… tired.
“Maybe we’re both rotting.” He glanced around at the vast emptiness. “Or maybe this isn’t what you think it is.”
Doflamingo felt something cold twist in his gut.
He stepped back, suddenly unsteady.
Rosinante came back to sewing. The rhythmic motion of the needle through feathers filled the silence between them. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Doflamingo felt small. His throat felt dry. His fingers twitched at his sides. He clenched them, then unclenched them, as if struggling to hold something back.
His voice came out hoarse, quieter than he wanted.
“Why did you betray me?”
Rosinante didn’t stop sewing. The needle passed through the feathered coat in steady, practiced motions.
Doflamingo’s breath hitched. He stepped forward again, forcing his voice to rise.
“Why did you make me kill you?”
The words echoed in the vast emptiness.
Rosinante didn’t flinch, didn’t look at him.
Doflamingo’s fingers curled into his palms, nails digging into flesh. “You knew what you meant to me. You knew that you were all I had left. So why?” His breath was ragged. “Why did you force my hand? Why did you leave?”
Rosinante finally stilled. He let out a long exhale and set the coat down in his lap. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze.
“…I never wanted to leave you, Doffy.”
Doflamingo felt something splinter in his chest.
“I never wanted to be your enemy,” Rosinante continued. His voice was gentle, like an old wound reopening. “I never wanted to fight you. Never wanted to hurt you.”
Doflamingo’s jaw clenched. “Then why did you-”
“Because you weren’t the only one who mattered.”
The words struck deeper than any blade. Doflamingo’s breath caught. He stared at Rosinante, his vision blurring at the edges. He knew about who Rosinante talked about. Law.
Rosinante’s expression didn’t change. “You always thought the world revolved around you. That everything - everyone - was either with you or against you.” His fingers ghosted over the fabric of the coat, tracing the seams he had repaired. “But there were others, Doffy. And they mattered, too.”
Doflamingo wanted to deny it. Wanted to scream. But the words lodged in his throat, suffocating him.
Rosinante continued, voice steady. “I loved you. You were my brother.”
Doflamingo squeezed his eyes shut.
“But I couldn’t let you keep destroying everything you touched.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay even. “You should have just stayed with me.”
Rosinante gave him a sad smile. “You wouldn’t have let me.”
Silence fell between them.
Doflamingo’s shoulders trembled. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Rosinante picked up his needle again and resumed sewing. The quiet, rhythmic sound of thread passing through feathers filled the void. Doflamingo stood there, his hands shaking, his chest hollow. For the first time, he realized that no amount of power had ever truly made him whole.
Rosinante finished his last stitch and let out a quiet sigh. He ran his fingers over the repaired feathers, smoothing them out as if handling something fragile.
Then, without a word, he stood.
Doflamingo stiffened. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed this; Rosinante standing beside him, towering over most people but never over him. It was something deeply ingrained in his memory, a piece of a past that felt just out of reach. But Rosinante didn’t look at him with the awe and admiration he once had as a child. Nor did he look at him with fear, like in those final moments.
Instead, there was only something… steady.
Before Doflamingo could react, Rosinante took a step forward, lifting the coat in his hands. And then; like he had done so many times before, like it was second nature - he draped it over Doflamingo’s outstretched arms, settling it on his shoulders, just as it had always been worn.
The weight of it was familiar.
Too familiar.
Doflamingo's breath hitched. He stared at Rosinante, eyes wide, uncertain, as if he couldn't understand why. Rosinante adjusted the collar, brushing some of the loose feathers into place. His hands lingered for a moment before he finally stepped back.
“You lost yourself, Doffy.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard.
“In your revenge. In your anger.” Rosinante’s voice was calm, almost… gentle. “You lost the boy who wanted a family. The boy who just wanted to be warm.”
Doflamingo’s hands curled around the edges of his coat. He hadn’t realized he was trembling.
“You built an empire on the ashes of your pain.” Rosinante tilted his head, his gaze unreadable. “But did it ever make you happy?”
Doflamingo opened his mouth. Closed it.
No words came.
He didn’t know the answer.
Or maybe he did - and he just didn’t want to say it out loud.
Rosinante exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “I wanted to save you,” he admitted. “Even when you made it impossible. Even now, I wish I had been able to.”
Doflamingo’s throat was tight. The coat on his shoulders felt heavier than ever.
Rosinante gave him one last long look. “But the only one who could have saved you… was you.”
Doflamingo clenched his jaw. “Then why am I here?”
Rosinante hesitated, then said, “Maybe you’re finally ready to ask yourself that.”
Doflamingo stared at him, something cold running down his spine For the first time since waking in this void, he felt truly afraid.
Doflamingo’s throat felt tight. His hands twitched at his sides. He hadn’t thought about them in; how long had it been?
“…Are they here?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Our parents. Mother.”
Rosinante blinked, as if surprised by the question. He tilted his head slightly, considering.
Then, quietly, he said, “I have no idea.”
Doflamingo’s breath caught. “You don’t know?”
Rosinante shook his head. “I don’t know where they are, or if they’re here at all.” His voice was calm, but there was something distant in it, something that made Doflamingo uneasy.
Doflamingo’s lips parted, but Rosinante cut him off before he could speak.
“But does it matter?”
The question was soft, but it hit Doflamingo like a bullet. He took a step back, something cold settling in his chest.
Rosinante wasn’t looking at him anymore. His fingers absently brushed over the repaired seams of Doflamingo’s coat, as if deep in thought.
“Our mother loved us,” Rosinante murmured. “I think, if she were anywhere, she’d want to be somewhere warm. Somewhere peaceful.” His lips quirked up slightly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “She always liked the sound of the ocean.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard.
“And father?”
Rosinante’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t know.”
Silence stretched between them.
Doflamingo forced himself to scoff, to smirk, to act like it didn’t sting that even here, in death, they weren’t waiting for him. That they hadn’t come to greet him. But the weight in his chest told him otherwise.
Rosinante finally looked at him again. His eyes weren’t cruel, weren’t mocking. There was only quiet understanding.
“You spent your whole life chasing ghosts, Doffy,” he said. “Would it really change anything if you found them now?”
Doflamingo had no answer.
Because, deep down, he knew-
No.
It wouldn’t.
Doflamingo felt like he was suffocating.
He had spent his entire life clawing his way to the top, crushing anyone who stood in his way, refusing to acknowledge anything that made him weak. And yet here, in this empty place, stripped of his empire, stripped of his throne; he had never felt smaller. Rosinante exhaled softly. He looked at Doflamingo, really looked at him, as if seeing past all the layers of cruelty, the arrogance, the rage. Seeing the lost boy beneath it all.
“You can stay here,” he said. His voice wasn’t commanding, wasn’t forceful. Just steady. “For all eternity.”
Doflamingo’s breath hitched.
Rosinante gestured around them, at the endless, vast nothingness. “Here, nothing changes. Nothing grows. Nothing moves forward.” He tilted his head. “You’ll never be king here. You’ll never be feared. You’ll never be loved. You’ll just… exist.”
Doflamingo’s fingers clenched around the edges of his coat.
“Or,” Rosinante continued, taking a small step forward, “you can go back.”
Doflamingo stiffened. “Back?”
Rosinante nodded. “Back to everyone.” His voice was calm, but there was something heavier beneath it. “To the people you hurt. To the people who survived you.”
Doflamingo scoffed, though it came out weaker than he intended. “And what? Beg for forgiveness?”
“No,” Rosinante said simply. “I don’t think you’d ever do that.”
Doflamingo looked away.
“But you can take responsibility.”
Doflamingo’s jaw tightened. “Why the hell would I do that?”
Rosinante sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he used to when he was frustrated with him as a child. Then, lowering his hand, he said:
“Because deep down, you know this isn’t what you wanted.”
Doflamingo’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“You spent your whole life chasing revenge, chasing power, trying to fill a void inside you.” Rosinante’s voice remained steady. “But you never stopped to think about what came after.”
Doflamingo forced out a laugh. “And what do you think is waiting for me? A warm welcome? A second chance?”
“No,” Rosinante admitted. “Maybe nothing is waiting for you at all.”
Doflamingo froze.
“But that’s not the point, is it?” Rosinante said softly. “It’s not about what you get anymore.”
Doflamingo’s fingers twitched at his sides.
He had ruled a kingdom. Commanded an army. Pulled the strings of the world in the palm of his hands.
And yet, the idea of stepping back into it, of facing what he had done, of owning it-
It terrified him.
Rosinante took another step back, as if giving him space to decide.
“I can’t tell you what to do,” he said. “I never could.” A small, knowing smile flickered across his face. “But you’ve spent your whole life running from the past. Maybe it’s time you finally turned around and faced it.”
Doflamingo’s breath was shallow.
He didn’t move.
Rosinante’s eyes softened.
“Whatever you choose… it’s up to you.”
Doflamingo swallowed thickly, forcing himself to steady his breath. His mind was a storm; his entire being torn between the weight of everything he had built and the emptiness of the place he now stood in. But through it all, his gaze remained locked onto Rosinante. His little brother, the only thing in this void that felt real.
“…And if I go back?” His voice was hoarse, unsteady. “What happens to you?”
Rosinante hummed, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t know.”
Doflamingo’s fingers twitched at his sides. “Will I ever see you again?”
For the first time, Rosinante hesitated.
Then, in one fluid motion, he stepped forward; closer than he had been in years. Before Doflamingo could react, Rosinante’s hands reached up, cupping his face, fingers curling over his jaw.
And then - he kissed him.
It wasn’t cruel, wasn’t meant to hurt, wasn’t an attack. It was slow, lingering, filled with something too vast to put into words.
Doflamingo stiffened.
Rosinante’s lips were warm, but fleeting.
By the time Doflamingo’s brain caught up, the touch was already fading. Rosinante pulled back, his forehead barely brushing against Doflamingo’s. He exhaled softly, his breath warm against his skin. Then, with a slow, careful motion, Rosinante slid his hand up to Doflamingo’s face; fingers brushing along the edge of his sunglasses.
Doflamingo didn’t move.
Rosinante pushed the glasses up, lifting them from his eyes, revealing the sharp, piercing gaze beneath. For the first time in a long time, they were looking at each other without barriers. Without the walls they had built between them.
Rosinante smiled; small, but knowing. “I have no idea if I’m even here at all.”
Doflamingo’s stomach twisted.
“I’ve been gone for a long time now,” Rosinante murmured, his thumb ghosting over Doflamingo’s cheek. “Maybe I was never here to begin with.”
Doflamingo flinched. “Don’t say that.”
Rosinante let out a soft chuckle. “Why not?”
“Because you’re here,” Doflamingo snapped, grabbing his wrist. His grip was tight, almost desperate. “You’re standing in front of me.”
Rosinante studied him for a long moment, his gaze unbearably gentle.
“Or maybe I’m just your guilt,” he said quietly. “Maybe I’m just a part of you that refuses to let go.”
Doflamingo’s breath hitched.
“Maybe I’m nothing more than a thread in the tapestry of your mind,” Rosinante continued. “A ghost stitched into the fabric of your regrets.” He let out a soft sigh. “Maybe I only exist because you won’t let me go.”
Doflamingo’s jaw tightened. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Doflamingo wanted to yell, wanted to shake him, wanted to demand an answer that made sense. But Rosinante was calm, unshaken, as if none of it really mattered.
Because maybe; to him - it didn’t.
Doflamingo’s hands trembled. “Then what do I do?”
Rosinante gave a small, lopsided smile. “That’s up to you.”
Doflamingo clenched his fists. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have,” Rosinante admitted. He took a step back, slowly lowering Doflamingo’s sunglasses back into place. “I don’t know what will happen to me if you go back. I don’t know what will happen to any of us.”
He exhaled softly, looking out into the empty void. “Maybe I’ll disappear. Maybe I’ll stay.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard. “And if I stay?”
Rosinante turned back to him, tilting his head slightly. “Then you’ll never know.”
Doflamingo’s chest felt tight.
Rosinante sighed. “You’re afraid.”
Doflamingo grit his teeth. “No, I’m not.”
Rosinante gave him a knowing look.
Doflamingo’s hands clenched around the fabric of his coat.
“I spent my whole life running,” Rosinante murmured. “Maybe you did, too, in your own way.”
Doflamingo stiffened.
“You ran forward, never looking back, convincing yourself that if you just kept going, if you just kept taking, if you just kept destroying, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have to face the fact that you were running from something.” Rosinante met his gaze. “And now you’ve run out of places to go.”
Doflamingo’s breath was shallow.
Rosinante shrugged. “You can stay here, if you want.”
Doflamingo didn’t respond.
Rosinante’s voice softened. “But if you go back… if you finally stop running…” He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe you’ll finally understand why you started in the first place.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard.
Rosinante’s hands lingered on his coat for a moment longer. Then, finally, he let go.
“…It’s your choice, Doffy.”
Doflamingo exhaled shakily.
His breath was uneven. He had spent this entire time fighting, clawing, questioning, demanding. But now, as he stood there in the vast emptiness, staring at the only person he had ever truly loved, something inside him broke.
“…I would’ve been happy too.”
Rosinante blinked, his lips parting slightly as if caught off guard.
Doflamingo swallowed, his throat tight. “Laying up on a hill with you,” he murmured, his voice quieter than it had ever been. “Watching the stars for our entire lives.” His fingers twitched at his sides, clenching and unclenching. “I think… I would’ve been happy with that.”
Rosinante exhaled softly, his expression unreadable.
Doflamingo let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Well… I suppose it’s too much to ask, isn’t it?” His voice grew rougher, heavier, as he looked away. “After everything I’ve done. After everything I destroyed.”
His throat ached, but he forced out the words anyway. “I don’t get to ask for something like that, do I?”
Rosinante was quiet for a long time.
Doflamingo expected him to confirm it; to tell him, yes, you lost that right. He expected condemnation, expected judgment, expected the weight of everything he had ever done to finally crash down upon him.
But instead-
“If it meant I could watch the stars with you,” Rosinante said softly, “I wouldn’t mind being born again.”
Doflamingo froze.
His breath caught in his throat, something shattering deep inside him.
Rosinante smiled faintly, tilting his head as he looked at the void around them. “Maybe, in another life, we wouldn’t have been born into all of this.” He gestured vaguely, as if encompassing everything; the suffering, the tragedy, the war. “Maybe we would’ve been just… two brothers. Two kids who never had to learn what it means to survive.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard, his chest aching in ways he hadn’t thought possible.
“In that life, maybe we wouldn’t have had to fight.” Rosinante let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe we could’ve just spent our days running in the grass, stealing fruit from the market, lying under the sky and dreaming about what was out there.”
Doflamingo’s fingers twitched.
“You were always so much bigger than life,” Rosinante continued, his voice quieter now. “So loud. So full of fire. I used to think you could swallow the entire world if you wanted to.” He turned back to Doflamingo, his gaze impossibly soft. “But maybe, in another world, you wouldn’t have had to.”
Doflamingo squeezed his eyes shut.
“Maybe we both could’ve been happy with something small.” Rosinante let out a breath, looking up. “A hill. The stars. Each other.” He smiled wistfully. “That would’ve been enough for me.”
Doflamingo gritted his teeth, forcing himself to breathe.
Rosinante lowered his gaze again, watching him carefully. “Would it have been enough for you?”
Doflamingo opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Because deep down, past all the rage, past all the destruction, past the years spent forcing himself to be more than human, more than pain-
He knew the answer.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Rosinante nodded, as if he had known all along.
Doflamingo’s throat burned. “But that’s not the life we got.”
Rosinante sighed, glancing back at the void around them. “No.”
Doflamingo laughed, but it was hollow. “And I can’t change what I did.”
“No.”
Doflamingo’s hands curled into fists. “So what the hell do I do now?”
Rosinante was quiet for a moment. Then, softly-
“You live.”
Doflamingo stilled.
Rosinante’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. “You take responsibility.”
Doflamingo swallowed hard.
“You face what you’ve done,” Rosinante continued. “Not because it will undo anything. Not because you deserve forgiveness. But because… it’s the only thing left to do.”
Doflamingo let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “And if I don’t?”
Rosinante looked at him, the answer already clear in his eyes.
“Then you’ll stay here,” he said simply.
Doflamingo’s stomach twisted.
Rosinante shrugged. “And you’ll never get to see the stars again.”
Doflamingo’s breath hitched.
Rosinante smiled again; tired, knowing, sad. “So what’s it going to be, Doffy?”
Doflamingo exhaled slowly, the weight of everything crashing down around him.
For the first time in his life, he had to make a choice that had nothing to do with power. Nothing to do with control.
And for the first time-
He didn’t know what would come next.
Doflamingo's breath was shallow again. His hands were trembling, but he wasn’t sure if it was from fear or something else. He looked at Rosinante; really looked at him. The brother he had killed. The only person who had ever loved him without conditions. The only person he had ever allowed himself to love in return. For so long, Doflamingo had thought love was control. That power was the only way to hold onto someone. That destruction was the only path forward.
But now, standing here, stripped of everything, staring at Rosinante in this empty void-
For the first time, he let himself want something else.
Doflamingo moved before he could stop himself.
He grabbed Rosinante by the collar, pulling him forward.
And then; he kissed him.
It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t like the countless times he had taken what he wanted through force. It was quiet. Slow. A final tether to the one thing he had ever truly cared about.
Rosinante didn’t resist. He didn’t pull away.
For a moment, just a moment, Doflamingo allowed himself to pretend that time had stopped. That none of it had happened. That they were just two boys again, watching the stars from a hill, dreaming of a world that would never come.
Then, slowly, Doflamingo pulled back.
His fingers reached up to his face, pausing only for a moment.
Then, finally, he took off his glasses.
The tinted, rose-colored lenses that had shielded him from the world, the mask he had worn for decades, the last barrier between him and everything he had refused to face-
He let them slip from his fingers.
They fell into the void, swallowed by nothingness.
Doflamingo looked at Rosinante with his own eyes; unfiltered, exposed, raw.
He exhaled softly. “I’ll see you later, Rosi.”
Rosinante’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile.
He reached up, brushing a stray lock of Doflamingo’s hair away from his face, his touch impossibly gentle.
“I’ll be waiting for you in hell, Doffy.”
Doflamingo let out a short, sharp laugh, but there was no cruelty in it. No arrogance.
Just acceptance.
Rosinante took a step back.
And Doflamingo fell.
The void swallowed him whole.
The last thing he saw before the darkness faded, before the world pulled him back-
Was Rosinante, standing there, smiling, watching him go.
Then, Doflamingo’s body ached. His mind felt sluggish, like he had been drowning in thick, endless fog.
Air. Light.
Pain.
His lungs burned as he took in a sharp breath, his body jerking awake.
The first thing he saw was blue. The sky, vast and endless above him. The sound of crashing waves filled his ears, distant shouts, the metallic clang of battle ringing through the air.
And then-
A shadow fell over him.
Doflamingo’s vision focused just in time to see him.
Trafalgar Law.
Standing above him, arms crossed, looking down at him like he had just found the most disgusting thing in the world. Doflamingo blinked slowly. The memories crashed down on him in waves-
The war.
Raftel.
The battle against the World Government.
Imu.
The Straw Hats.
The Cross Guild.
He had survived.
Doflamingo let out a low, rumbling laugh, stretching out his stiff limbs. He could feel the bruises blooming across his skin, the blood drying on his clothes.
“Beautiful day, Isn't it?” he murmured, his voice rough from whatever damage his body had endured.
Then, tilting his head up, he smirked.
“If only I had realized that sooner.”
Law’s brow twitched, his irritation palpable. “Don’t start with your bullshit, Doflamingo.” His voice was sharp, but there was an edge of exhaustion behind it.
Doflamingo chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, Trafalgar, my dear, dear boy. Always so full of hate.” He stretched out his arms, wincing slightly as his muscles protested. “And yet here you are, watching over me like a worried little doctor.”
Law’s scowl deepened. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re a useful piece of shit, that’s all.”
Doflamingo grinned. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Law rolled his eyes. “I should’ve let you die.”
Doflamingo hummed, reaching up to his face.
And then, slowly, without a word, he removed his sunglasses.
The moment they left his face, Law’s expression shifted. It wasn’t shock; not exactly. It was something more subtle. More unnerved. Because this was the first time Law had ever seen Doflamingo’s eyes without the mask. Doflamingo smirked, twirling the glasses between his fingers before letting them drop to the ground beside him.
Law’s lips curled in disgust. “What the hell are you doing?”
Doflamingo stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s just say…” He let out a slow breath, glancing up at the sky once more.
“…I’ve had a very enlightening nap.”
Law scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Tch. Whatever. Just get up; we still need you to kill people.”
Doflamingo let out a bark of laughter. “Music to my ears.”
He pushed himself to his feet, shaking off the last remnants of the void.
War still raged around them. The world was still crumbling.
But for the first time in his life-
Doflamingo felt awake.
The war was over.
The seas had quieted, the world forever changed.
Luffy had done it; he had become the King of the Pirates. Zoro had defeated Mihawk, claiming his title as the world’s strongest swordsman. Sanji, after years of searching, had finally found All Blue.
And Doflamingo?
He found himself sitting at a bar, swirling a glass of whiskey between his fingers, listening to the low hum of voices around him. He hadn’t fled. Hadn’t gone into hiding. There was no point. The world had reshaped itself, and somehow, he had survived it.
For now, at least.
The seat next to him shifted as someone plopped down, completely ungraceful, without a care in the world. Doflamingo didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“…Oi, Mingo,” Luffy’s voice was relaxed, casual, as if they were old friends instead of former enemies.
Doflamingo smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Strawhat.”
Luffy let out a hum of acknowledgment, tapping his fingers against the counter before turning to look at him. “Why’d you help us?”
Doflamingo paused, glass hovering just before his lips.
He should have expected the question.
He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s what you want to ask me? Not if I regret anything? Not if I plan to rebuild my empire?”
Luffy shrugged. “Nah. I don’t care about that.” His voice was calm, steady. “I just wanna know.”
Doflamingo exhaled through his nose, setting his drink down with a small clink.
“…Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?”
Luffy tilted his head. “That’s kinda lame.”
Doflamingo snorted. “Yeah, well. I don’t specialize in heartfelt confessions.”
Luffy hummed, rocking slightly in his seat, waiting.
Doflamingo sighed, running a hand through his hair. He thought about giving some flippant answer, some casual remark to brush the question off.
But instead, he found himself saying-
“Because it was the only choice I had left.”
Luffy blinked. “Huh?”
Doflamingo leaned back slightly, tilting his head toward the ceiling.
“All my life, I thought power was the only thing that mattered,” he said, his voice quieter now. “That if I kept taking, kept winning, kept pushing forward, I would finally get what I wanted.”
His fingers tapped against the counter.
“But I never stopped to ask myself what that even was.”
Luffy listened, quiet.
Doflamingo chuckled dryly. “Turns out, I spent my whole life running in the wrong direction.” He took another sip of his whiskey, exhaling slowly. “And by the time I realized it, I had already burned everything behind me.”
Luffy frowned slightly. “So… you helped us because you regret what you did?”
Doflamingo smirked, shaking his head. “No, Strawhat. I helped you because it was too late for regrets.”
Luffy blinked, processing that.
Doflamingo tilted his head, watching the liquid swirl in his glass. “I couldn’t fix what I’d done. Couldn’t bring back the people I lost.” His voice was smooth, but there was something heavy beneath it. “But I could choose how I ended my story.”
Luffy studied him for a long moment before grinning.
“Well, I think that’s a pretty good reason.”
Doflamingo huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot.”
Luffy grinned wider. “Yep.”
They sat in silence for a while.
Then, after a long pause, Luffy glanced at him again.
“…You ever gonna put your glasses back on?”
Doflamingo smirked, reaching into his pocket. He pulled them out, spinning them between his fingers before setting them on the counter.
“…No.”
Luffy chuckled, kicking his feet against the bar. “Guess it really is a beautiful day, huh?”
Doflamingo exhaled, tilting his head back as the warm glow of the setting sun spilled through the window.
“…Yeah.” He closed his eyes. “It is.”
Doflamingo hadn’t changed.
Maybe he never would.
He was still a bastard, still dangerous, still someone most sane people would call a monster. But he didn’t use his anger to destroy anymore. Not for the sake of it, at least. He wasn’t some hero. He never would be.
And that was fine.
He worked alongside Crocodile now, navigating the shifting underworld, running schemes that neither built empires nor tore them down; just enough to keep them in the game, enough to remind the world that men like them didn’t just disappear.
They weren’t trying to reclaim what they had lost.
Because maybe they had lost everything.
And maybe that was fine, too.
Crocodile never asked questions. Never expected Doflamingo to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to drag a confession from him, never asked about the way Doflamingo sometimes lingered too long in front of windows, staring at something just out of reach.
They weren’t lovers in any poetic sense.
But there was something between them, something unspoken, something like understanding. Two men who had lost it all. Two men who hadn’t changed, but hadn’t become worse.
Maybe that was enough.
And maybe, just maybe, so was this.
Because sometimes, in the corner of his eye, just for a second, just a glimpse-
When he passed by a window, or saw his own reflection in a glass-
He saw him.
Rosinante.
Smiling.
Doflamingo never turned to look directly. Never tried to chase it.
Because deep down, he knew.
Maybe it was real.
Maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe he had finally lost his mind.
Maybe the entire conversation had never even happened.
Maybe that empty void was nothing more than the last desperate whispers of a dying brain, clinging to something that never existed.
Maybe Rosinante had been gone for far too long.
But maybe-
Maybe that was enough.
Doflamingo lived long enough to see the world change.
He lived long enough to see a new era.
He watched as Straw Hat Luffy and his crew reshaped history, tearing down the old systems, making peace where it seemed impossible. He watched as the World Government fell, as Imu was defeated, as the truth of the Void Century unraveled across the world like a long-forgotten nightmare waking in the daylight. He watched a world without Celestial Dragons ruling it. A world without men like him at the top.
And strangely-
That was fine.
He had no interest in ruling anymore.
His old crew had gone their own ways. Some had found new purpose, some had vanished into the shadows, some had simply moved on. Doflamingo never tried to bring them back.
That was fine, too.
He watched Trafalgar Law change, watched him let go of the past, watched him finally move on. Watched as, after so many years, Law stopped carrying Rosinante’s ghost like a blade between his ribs. Doflamingo watched, and for the first time, he felt no anger, no resentment, no desire to drag Law back into a war that had already ended.
Somehow; he had lived.
Not just survived.
Lived.
Years passed, decades even, and Doflamingo never changed, not really. He remained a bastard, remained sharp-tongued and smug, remained himself. But he never burned the world down again.
Never let his rage consume him.
He and Crocodile stayed together; not in the way people dreamed of love, not in the way people wrote about it, but in the way that mattered.
Two men who had lost everything. Two men who had stopped searching for something more.
Crocodile never tried to fix him.
Doflamingo never tried to lie to him.
They stayed side by side, through the years, through the chaos, through the silence of old age creeping up on them like an inevitability.
Until one day-
Doflamingo didn’t wake up.
He didn’t die in battle. Didn’t go out in a blaze of glory. Didn’t leave behind a trail of blood.
He died in his sleep.
Peaceful. Silent.
And when Crocodile woke up, when he turned to the side expecting some crude comment, expecting a smirk, expecting anything-
Instead, he found Doflamingo’s body lying still beside him.
The rise and fall of his chest had stopped. His breath had left him in the night.
No final words. No grand exit.
Just gone.
Crocodile didn’t say anything.
Didn’t curse. Didn’t cry. Didn’t shake him awake like some desperate fool clinging to a false hope. He just sat there for a long time, staring at the man who had been at his side for years.
And then; after a while-
He sighed.
Took out a cigar.
Lit it.
And as the first cloud of smoke filled the room, he muttered-
“Figures.”
Because of course that bastard had gone and left him behind.
Of course, he hadn’t let Crocodile get the last word.
Even in death-
Doflamingo had won.
Doflamingo woke up to the sound of the wind.
His body felt small; lighter, weaker, unfamiliar in a way that sent an uneasy tremor down his spine.
But he didn’t think about it.
Because none of that mattered.
What mattered was the home around him, the rotting, crumbling walls of the house his family had lived in since they left Mary Geoise.
It was cold. It always was.
He turned his head and saw them; his parents, sleeping in the old bed, wrapped in threadbare blankets that barely did anything against the chill.
Everything was as it should be.
He didn’t question why that thought felt strange. Didn’t question why something in his chest tightened like a thread pulled too tight.
He just… moved.
Slipping out of bed, feet touching the cold wooden floor, he pushed open the door and stepped outside. The night was quiet. The air was crisp, the wind gentle against his skin. And without thinking, his feet started moving.
Up the hill.
It was instinct, second nature, as natural as breathing. He climbed, bare feet pressing into the cool earth, until the ground leveled out.
And there-
Lying on his back, arms behind his head, eyes fixed on the endless stretch of stars-
Was Rosinante.
Eight years old, still small, still quiet.
Still here.
Something in Doflamingo’s chest loosened, though he didn’t know why. Rosinante didn’t react to his arrival, didn’t turn his head or acknowledge him.
But he didn’t need to.
Doflamingo sat down beside him, stretching his legs out, letting his body settle into the familiar routine. They had done this a hundred times before.
And yet-
Something felt… strange.
Like the world was holding its breath. Like something was off, just slightly, just enough to make Doflamingo’s fingers twitch at his sides.
But he didn’t think about it.
Didn’t let himself.
Instead, he tilted his head back, eyes tracing the sky.
“…I would’ve been happy laying here forever,” Rosinante murmured. His voice was soft, thoughtful, his gaze unwavering.
Doflamingo blinked.
Rosinante let out a slow exhale, watching the stars. “I think most people can name something small, something simple, that would keep their mind at peace forever.”
Doflamingo didn’t respond.
Didn’t know how to respond.
Rosinante smiled faintly. “But people always want more, don’t they?”
Something tugged at Doflamingo’s mind; something distant, something forgotten, something that felt important.
Like an echo of a conversation he couldn’t quite remember.
But when he turned to look at Rosinante-
His little brother was just a boy.
Lying in the grass, watching the sky, speaking in quiet riddles the way he always did.
Everything was as it should be.
Doflamingo turned back to the stars, letting the silence settle between them.
Whatever strange feeling had crept into his mind, whatever phantom thoughts had whispered at the edges of his consciousness-
They didn’t matter.
Not here.
Not now.
Because tonight, like every night before it-
He and Rosinante would watch the stars.
The days passed like water slipping through fingers.
Doflamingo never questioned it.
The mornings were warm, the air crisp with the scent of grass and the salt of the sea. He would wake to the distant laughter of Rosinante outside, already up, already running barefoot through the fields. Their mother, radiant and full of life, would hum softly as she prepared breakfast, brushing gentle fingers through Doflamingo’s hair when he passed by. Homing would ruffle Rosinante’s messy blonde locks with a tired but genuine smile, asking if they had been good while he was away.
Rosinante would giggle and lie, as he always did.
And Doflamingo would scoff, as he always did.
Everything was as it should be.
The days stretched long and golden, filled with the sound of their feet pounding against the dirt, the rustling of the wind through the trees, the echo of laughter carried through the hills. Doflamingo and Rosinante raced through the fields, their feet kicking up dust, their hands reaching for the sky as if they could pluck the very stars from it. Rosinante always tripped first; he always had terrible balance. But instead of falling, instead of scraping his knees and crying, he would laugh, rolling down the hill, arms flailing, eyes squeezed shut in delight. Doflamingo would chase after him, tackling him into the grass, the two of them tumbling together, breathless and giddy, the world spinning around them.
No hunger.
No fear.
No suffering.
Only warmth.
Only sunlight filtering through the trees, their mother’s laughter ringing out as she called them inside for lunch. Only the comfort of knowing that when they woke up tomorrow, nothing would change.
Homing tried his best; he was a fool, a clumsy, well-meaning fool, but he tried.
He showed them how to build wooden swords from branches, taught them how to carve shapes into the bark with careful hands. Rosinante always lost in their mock battles, dropping his sword at the first sign of Doflamingo’s aggression, throwing his hands up dramatically as if mortally wounded. Doflamingo would roll his eyes, shoving him aside, declaring himself victorious. And their mother would scold him, laughing despite herself, taking Rosinante’s hands in hers and telling him he was a very convincing warrior.
Rosinante would beam.
Doflamingo would scoff, hiding the way his lips twitched up in amusement.
The nights came slowly, the sunsets spilling gold and violet across the sky, the air cooling but never quite cold. They would run up the hill after dinner, collapsing into the grass, chests rising and falling in time with the distant crashing of the waves.
Rosinante always pointed out the stars first.
He had names for them; names he made up, names he insisted were real.
Doflamingo never argued with him.
He just lay beside him, watching the sky, feeling the steady heartbeat of the world beneath them.
It was peaceful.
It was endless.
And it was enough.
Doflamingo never thought about why it felt like it had always been this way. Never questioned why he had no memory of anything else. Never wondered why the thought of change sent a strange, sinking feeling through his chest.
Because nothing would change.
Nothing needed to change.
This was how it had always been.
And this was how it always would be.
Rosinante’s voice broke the silence, soft and dreamy.
“Hey, Doffy… do you think the stars ever get lonely?”
Doflamingo snorted, shaking his head. “Idiot.”
Rosinante laughed.
Doflamingo turned his head, watching his little brother’s smile, the way the starlight reflected in his golden eyes, the way his hair curled in the night breeze.
And then-
For the briefest moment-
Something flickered.
Something distant.
A whisper of a memory, just out of reach-
A weight on his shoulders, something missing, something forgotten.
Something important.
Doflamingo’s breath hitched.
Rosinante turned to him, blinking. “Doffy?”
The stars shimmered above them. The grass swayed gently in the wind.
Everything was warm.
Everything was as it should be.
Doflamingo exhaled.
And the thought was gone.
He smirked, shoving Rosinante’s shoulder playfully. “You ask the dumbest questions.”
Rosinante pouted, rubbing his arm. “It’s not dumb.”
Doflamingo laughed, rolling onto his back, staring at the sky.
The world stretched on, soft and infinite.
And somewhere, in a place beyond words, beyond time, beyond anything that mattered-
The stars kept shining.