After growing bored from rubbing his fingers against the smooth surface of a coin, Doflamingo left his room, entertained by the sounds of his mother spelling out words to his younger brother…

With the guidance of the building's structure, along with a few still, postured slaves, Doflamingo navigated to one of the larger rooms, catching his mother singing out the pronunciations of certain letters.

"F-L-A-M-I…"

He grabbed on to furniture, feeling the textures that would lead him to her and his brother's position. His small hand slid across expensive leather, cool and smooth, then felt one of the over-fluffed cushioned seats. He suddenly he felt a large, soft hand gently hold on to his. The welcoming gesture caused him to turn his head, his face becoming warm with a spreading smile.

"Your turn, Roci."

"Fra-meen-go…"

Another hand slipped under his arm. Doflamingo was hoisted up and placed right next to his mother. The boy turned reserved, kicking his legs up and covering his cheeks until they cooled, while his mother continued to lecture his younger brother.

"Now, what does the sentence spell out together?" his mother asked.

"Uhm…" Doflamingo detected something being crumbled by his brother's hands. Pages? He blinked, realizing that his brother was reading something from a book, and that his mother was attempting to teach him a series of new words. Doflamingo tucked his legs up to his small chest, creating a small pout as he was left without a means to imagine such an act.

"You can do it." His mother's consoling voice did help make this process of the unknown less alien to Doflamingo. He listened as his little brother press his hands against the pages of the book.

"The…fra-min-go….is pink."

"Very good," his mother said. "You're doing a wonderful job." Doflamingo detected his brother wriggling in place, pleased by his accomplishment. Doflamingo felt a hand rest itself on top his head, giving it a gently pat. "Isn't your little brother doing a terrific job with his readings?"

Doflamingo blushed. "Mhmm!"

He heard his brother giggle. "The bird is pwetty."

"Yes, it is a lovely bird," his mother remarked, still providing Doflamingo soothing physical affection. "It was worth naming one of you after."

Doflamingo stared out into the empty backdrop of his own mind. He understood that she was referring to his own name, and though he certainly felt pride and comfort in hearing this statement, his mind struggled to put the compliment together.

He had once possessed a stuffed animal of the same name, and from those memories of squeezing and dragging it around by the neck, had learned that the flamingo was a bird of unusual shape and stature. Unique was the word his father used. Doflamingo liked that.

But the color was difficult to imagine. Words like "pretty," "bright," or "nice looking" hardly added to the image of the bird. They were adjectives that provided an idea, but left no indication of what the color might actually be.

He lifted his head up. "Mom?"

Her hand remained a part of him, slipping down from the head, and finding a new place on his small shoulder. "Yes dear?"

"What is…"pink"?"

His brother answered for him. "It's a color, Doffy."

"I know," Doflamingo huffed. "But what is it?" He grabbed his mother, giving her dress a tug. "I don't know what it is?"

"Pink?"

Doflamingo nodded his head. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Hmmm." He felt his mother recline into her seat, bringing her hand with him. Doflamingo followed her every move, crawling closer to her while listening to his brother proclaim, "I know, I know" repeatedly. After calming Rocinante down, she brought her hand back to Doflamingo, finger pressed against his lips.

"Your lips are pink," she announced. "As is mine, and your brothers."

His mother's lips. Doflamingo brought his hand up to his own, remembering the ticklish sensation of her pecking him on the cheek, the forehead, and on the stomach.

"Let's see," his mother went on. "The blanket you used to drag around when you were so much smaller was a shade of pink. And that stuffed animal. Oh, and my friend Jeanine? Her hair? You love her hair so much…that's also pink."

Doflamingo's mind listed out the sensations each of these things brought. The blanket that kept him warm. The toy that he kissed and tossed across the room for slaves to fetch for him. The long, silky hair that accompanied women, rubbing against his nose and causing his face to crinkle in delight. All were comforting, fun, and brought immediate joy upon contact.

So, this is "pink."

"You like this answer?" his mother asked.

Her voice. Although it could not be touched or controlled, Doflamingo wondered if it also came in a shade of pink. After all, it brought him so many memories of comfort, from scrapped knees to bad dreams, or long days without her presence.

"Yes," Doflamingo answered, smiling up at her. "I like pink."

"Do you?" his mother asked. "That's very good. I'm very fond of it myself."

"Momma, momma!" Rocinante yelled. Doflamingo felt vibrations of his brother's movement being soaked up by the cushions underneath. "Your nails are pink! See, see? They're pink!"

His mother gasped in surprise. "So they are! I never noticed, Roci. You're quite the little detective, aren't you?"

As his brother giggled, Doflamingo concluded that his mother was harboring various shades of the color. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Pink felt good. It was safe, warm, full of comfort…

"What are you thinking about, Doffy?"

The boy turned to his mother, exposing a bashful smile. "You," he admitted.

Her hand once again placed itself on his shoulder. This time Doflamingo grabbed it, taking it in his two, his smaller fingers wrapping around her own.

"What about me?" she asked, her voice hinting that she might already be in possession of the answer.

He held on tight to her hand. "Are there lots of different kinds of pink? Cause I think you have a lot of pink."

"There are many shades of pink," his mother answered. "Some soft and subtle, like your blanket and my fingers…"

So he was right about the color. The boy grinned at this marvelous discovery.

"And then there are the more intense shades," his mother continued, cradling the boy's palm with her finger. "Sometimes pink can be very passionate, vibrant and full of energy."

"Energy?"

"Yes, Doffy."

Doflamingo wasn't too sure about this addition. As far as evidence showed, pink was not a passionate color. But his mother was an adult full of wisdom, and she carried so many characteristics of his interpretation of the color.

"Like what?" he inquired, curious to see how his mother would prove him wrong.

"Well," his mother playfully hummed. "Your brother did say my fingernails were pink, right?"

"I did!" Rocinante cheered. "Uh-huh!"

"And do you know what I like to do with my fingers, more than anything else?" His mother said, pulling her hand away from the boy's grasp. Doflamingo felt her arm suddenly wrap itself around his small frame.

A finger poked his side, causing him to yelp in surprise.

"I like to make my little boys laugh with them!" His mother grabbed him, pulling him up close, one hand attacking his side with ticklish attacks, the other holding him into place, making any attempt at fleeing impossible.

"Ah! Stop!" Doflamingo laughed. His shaking arms pushed against her, doing nothing to stop her from continuing her assault.

Rocinante laughed, clapping his hands and cheering his mother on.

He felt her lips press against his cheek, now made more sensitive with her affectionate onslaught. Doflamingo yelped again, then laughed, and then tried pushing her away again, his body growing weak with delight. His mother held on tight, laughing, taunting his failed attempts.

"Roci, help!" Doflamingo yelled.

"Haha," his brother snickered. "Momma's got you!"

Doflamingo shut his eyes, feeling tears being to form between as he privately cursed his brother for not aiding during his time of need. But his mother stopped tickling him, her hands pulling away from his sensitive body, now having learned its lesson.

"You're next, mister!" his mother announced, followed quickly by the sounds of his brother squeaking and crying out from being grabbed by her. This gave Doflamingo a chance to escape, his hands sensing diminished vibrations as he crawled away from his mother and helpless brother.

Doflamingo caught his breath; fixing his sunglasses back into place as he listened to his brother received the same intense treatment he did. He wiped his cheek, feeling an immediate blush hit him when it dawned how his mother had proven him so wrong. Pink was still comforting, but it was so much more than just delicacy. The feeling in his chest, so warm and filled with loved, could only have been provided through extreme affection.

Were other colors just as complex?

The answer would come in the manifested form of "gold" resting in his room, grown icy with neglect.