The WIP Pit

Doflamingo was pissed. He was pissed to hell and back, even, and it bugged him, since, if memory served right, it had been more than a decade since he was this thrown off his game. He knew about the little ploys Law was going about for a time now, but he had not expected this.

Of course, he knew about his doings. He had kept a track of him ever since his men had caught a glimpse of him back when he was still at North, trying to pass the Calm Belt with his new little friends with nothing but a small boat, while he was still wet behind the ears and the loss of his savior still fresh. How could he not, when he was supposed to be his third Corazón and give him eternal youth thanks to the devil fruit that was supposed to be Doflamingo's in the first place?

Yes, he knew there would be some bumps on the road, but that damn brat had crossed the line when he went to that damn island and blew up his factory. Now, his dear old partner was blowing a fuse for his merchandise, the man who was supposed to create those SMILEs was held hostage, and two of his best subordinates were dead, buried under rubble. What a shame, wasn't it?

Oh, yeah, pissed was a light word for what he was feeling right now, but he was a patient man. He knew he would get what he wanted one way or the other, he just had to... tweak a few small things in his plan, that was all, and reconsider some things like the unexpected variable that turned out to be the Strawhats.

Once he got a hold of Law, oh, he would have to punish him first. Maybe even a little training session to get him to submit and listen to him as well. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. A proper subordinate should know when to listen and stop his years-long temper tantrum and do as he was told, after all.

These were things to think about for tomorrow, however. For now, he just wanted to return home, lock himself into your two's bedroom, have a drink or two for Vergo and Monet, and then let himself melt between your arms for a good night's rest.

Yeah, that sounded good.

Once at the palace, no one dared to bother him as he walked past the halls. Just from his stance alone, it was clear that he was not in a good mood, and, honestly? He would have used any excuse to rip some heads at this point. Maybe a bit of blood and screams from squirming little rats under his palm would cheer him up, you know?

It usually did, but he decided not to. He wanted to see you soon, after all, and he knew how much you hated the scent of death on him, and if he came to the bed with clothes dripping with gore, he had a pretty strong suspicion that you would not share the night with him.

Ahh...it was hard to be a good husband sometimes, wasn't it? Just so many compromises!

...But you were worth it, he supposed.

He went to the fifth floor, walked to the left, got to the third hallway, and reached the second door. There, he expected to be greeted with the smell of your perfume. Vanilla Caramel. It had not been his favorite at first, far too sweet for his taste, but, with time, now the mild, endearing scent had become a reminder of home.

There, he was met with none of that. There was a slight chill in the room, and when he turned his head, he saw that the window at the other side of the room was open, and the strong wind was making the curtains flutter against his desk.

He tsked. You always did that. Why did you even feel the need to air the room every hour of the damn day, anyway? It was cold enough as it is, especially during the chilly winter, but no matter how much he berated you, you never even seemed to attempt to stop this admittedly annoying habit.

"Maybe I should just bolt the windows shut," he thought, and went to close them.

Where were you, anyway? Why weren't you here to meet him? He was pretty sure Buffalo had seen him at the entrance and rushed to inform the rest of the Family.

Were you upset about something again and giving him the silent treatment? He can't think of any reason as to what he could have done to catch your bad side, though, especially since he had been trying to be a bit more amenable since your special day was around the corner, and he would rather spend the day celebrating you, kissing and making love, than fighting about God knows what.

He huffed, not being able to help but pout a little. He felt disappointed, he had to admit. He had expected to get pampered a little for the rest of the night, but now—

Then, he noticed an envelope on his desk, jammed between the pages of a book he had left half-read.

"What the hell..?" He mumbled and reached his hand to take it out. No one was allowed in their bedroom other than a few selected people, so who would dare to—

It was from you. He knew it instantly, just by a single glance. After all, he could recognise that chicken scratch writing from anywhere.

He didn't waste much time and ripped open the envelope to pull out the paper and read.

To Doffy, Husband, I'm not really sure when you'll read this, probably around the time you sit down to finish some paperwork, but hopefully, I will be long gone by then.    I just wanted to say that I tried, I really, really did. I tried to love you, I tried to change you, I tried to hold on to the hope that one day you would finally see reason and grow a soul, because I always believed ever since I was a little girl that, even if it was buried deep down, every person had the capacity for empathy, love, and compassion, even if it takes some time to bring those feelings out. I am ashamed to admit that you proved me otherwise. You showed me that some people are just born without something...that makes you human, I suppose. I don't know how else to explain this, however bitter it sounds. I don't know. Maybe it's me. Maybe I was not the right person for you. Maybe, one day, you'll find your real soulmate, and something will just click, and you'll finally learn what it means to really be in love, to actually care for someone, and even see the world for what it is, and not this cesspool we all are here to suffer like you seem to believe. God, I loved you so much. I really did. A small, foolish part of me still does. But I feel like I've lost so much of myself all these years, like you just took and took and took, and...now I've only got a few pieces left, until it's not me anymore. Do you get what I mean? I don't want to lose that, too. Please, if you really love me, leave me be. I can't keep this facade up anymore, or else I will have to keep struggling with these suffocating feelings until it actually kills me. Or you do. Despite everything you did to me, I still hope you will change for the better, that you will stop feeding this never-ending resentment of yours and your taste for cruelty, however foolish and naive it sounds. Goodbye.

And, just like that, Doflamingo felt a rush of anger surge all over him. It was surprising, really, how much rage a man could feel in a single day.

....What the fuck was this? What the hell were you blabbering about? You wanted to leave him? You didn't love him anymore? That this marriage was hurting you? And what about all the nonsense about empathy and compassion you threw at him in the middle, anyway?

What a load of bullshit.

He provided for you, protected you, and gave you a life that millions could only dream of. You never went hungry, you never had to worry about anything, you could get anything, do anything you wanted just by asking him.

Was this the life that was supposed to be suffocating? Hah! What an ungrateful little thing you turned out to be. But he was also at fault, he supposed. Maybe he had spoiled you too much over the years.

Without thinking, he crumbled your letter between his palms. It was trash, anyway. Some of the furniture, the wall in front of him, and the wardrobe were sliced with his clutter of strings flying around as well.

Better get the anger out before he does something he would not like, anyway.

No, he decided, then. No, he was not going to let you go. He will bring you back home because you made a vow to him back then, and not even death would be able to pull you away from him now.

In sickness and in health, for better or for worse, no matter what, you two would stay together. That was what you had promised.

Yeah, this was just a bump in your relationship, that was all, nothing more, nothing less. And, as the responsible and devoted husband that he was, he would come get you from whatever hole you inevitably got yourself lost in and smooth things out. You probably regretted leaving by now anyway, and only resisted the urge to return home because of your pride.