It was raining again.
Rosinante's eyes flew open as that godforsaken pitter-patter against his window increased in volume.
He stared up at the black ceiling, seeing the faint outline of his ceiling fan spinning and clenched his jaw. He blinked and leaned over to grab his phone and check the time.
3:02am
A frustrated huff escaped his lips and Rosinante ran a hand over his face.
He just wanted some goddamn sleep.
Was that so much to ask?
He sat up and the bed creaked under his weight as he reached over to his nightstand for his cigarettes.
He fumbled around in the darkness for at least thirty seconds and proceeded to knock just about everything off the nightstand in his efforts. He pursed his lips in frustration and continued groping around in the darkness until his fingers finally brushed against the cool plastic of his lighter and the cardboard box of his cigarettes.
A sigh of relief escaped his throat once he had his cigarettes and lighter in hand, and his bed once again creaked beneath his weight as he slowly brought himself up. His chest and abdomen screamed in protest, phantom white hot pain electrocuting his body at the sudden effort.
It wasn't real.
Even so, it was all Rosinante could do to get himself up into a seated position. He leaned against the wall, not even minding how cold it felt against his bare shoulder and labored for breath. He then brought a hand up to his forehead and wiped away the sweat that beaded there from the sudden, but not unexpected, pain in his chest and abdomen.
Once he could somewhat breathe again, Rosinante scooted forward in his bed until he was no longer leaning against the wall and was pressed against the window instead.
He didn't even bother turning the light on. There was no need to. Even with the curtains the city lights still leaked into his room and bathed everything in a faint yellow hue each night. And if Rosinante narrowed his eyes just right, he could see dust specks floating through the air in that faint yellow hue.
Despite what one might think, the lights and sounds of the city never bothered Rosinante. Not in the slightest. In fact, he almost thought they gave the shitty little apartment he'd been forced into some character.
But the rain?
It was the fucking rain that bothered him.
Bringing the lighter up to the cigarette in his mouth, Rosinante gave his curtains an impatient shove out of the way so he didn't light the damn things on fire and rested his forehead against the thin glass.
He greedily sucked at the end of the cigarette and inhaled the bitter smoke, savoring the taste of it on his tongue and the way it numbed his throat.
The sweet relief from the nicotine was instant and it quelled the shaking in his hands that he failed to notice when the rain first woke him up.
Then again, his hands seemed to shake a lot these days.
He took another drag of his cigarette and squeezed his eyes shut for a quick moment, clenching his hands in and out of fists.
His tired eyes soon fluttered open and he looked through the dirty window and watched a stray cat dash across the street and take refuge from the rain on the stoop of a brick apartment complex that was crumbling at the corners.
This was the fourth night in a row that it rained and he was about to fucking snap.
Sengoku took him off duty to rest before the big day. Not to become a fucking insomniac because Mother Fucking Nature had it out for him.
He continued to suck on his cigarette as the rain picked up and hit the thin glass of his little apartment window.
His fingers twitched.
How did people find this peaceful?
A sudden, burning hot pain appeared in his thigh and Rosinante jolted to see the ash from his cigarette burning the bare skin of his leg.
"Shit!"
He bolted out of bed to swat the ash off of him and ended up stubbing his toe on the corner of his nightstand in the process.
The profanity that left his mouth would have made even Garp proud as he seethed through his teeth and sat on the edge of his bed holding his foot, all whilst still managing to keep his cigarette between his lips.
"What the fuck," he groaned.
His chest and abdomen screamed in protest at the abrupt movement, and just like that, all pain in Rosinante's foot was forgotten about as he doubled over and pressed both of his hands to his scarred torso and tried his hardest to just breathe through the pain.
It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real…
This was all Mother Nature's fucking fault.
If it hadn't been fucking raining then he never would have woken up and caused himself unnecessary pain and injury.
The rain didn't stop.
That stupid, infuriating, relentless rain continued to tap on his paper thin window and he was all of five seconds away from chugging an entire bottle of bourbon to knock himself out and finally get some sleep.
When he opened his eyes he caught sight of ash falling from his cigarette and charring his wooden floors.
He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and took one last deep drag of his cigarette that made his lungs burn with numbness and held his breath as he reached over to the nightstand and ground the cigarette into the glass ashtray.
Sleep.
He needed sleep.
That was the whole reason he was there—to rest and relax so he was ready for what was coming his way.
Well. That and the whole witness protection thing.
Rosinante groaned when the tapping on the window worsened.
He lied down on his bed, feet still on the floor from where he had just sat down after stubbing his toe, and his hand shot out to grab a pillow and press it over his face.
With any luck, the oxygen deprivation would make him pass out.
17 years ago
The sun shown high above twenty-two year old Rosinante's head, baking him in an uncomfortable heat as he stood on the white sand beach. The waves crested not far off and swells of water and sea-foam occasionally lapped at his ankles where he stood barefoot, waiting for him.
Rosinante could hear Sengoku's gravelly voice in the back of his head. It repeated the plan, offered him an out if he really needed it, and warned him to be careful with the insistence of a father.
Despite knowing the very strong likelihood that he could be killed on the spot, Rosinante was not scared.
How could he be? He stood on a beautiful beach beneath a high sun and blue sky as waves crashed ahead of him.
If he had to pick a place to die, this would be it.
He'd lived a decent life. A good life.
He had Sengoku, the Bureau, and plenty of memories that were filled with laughter, love (both tough love and complete and utter unconditional love), lessons, adventures, and more than his fair share of heartbreak and pain.
His life had been full and he felt he could die without regrets.
Well. Almost.
If he died before attempting what he was currently attempting, then yes. He would die with one regret.
Not trying to stop his brother.
But if this was as far as Rosinante was ever going to get? Then at least he could say he tried.
"I didn't believe them when they told me."
Rosinante did not immediately turn around at the sound of the voice. Instead, he reached into his pocket and produced a cigarette and a lighter.
He took his first puff of the cigarette and pivoted on his heel to see none other than the monster that was his older brother standing before him.
The one and only Donquixote Doflamingo.
He was a massive, looming figure made of pink feathers, bronzed skin, blond hair, and angular features. Despite the heat and humidity of the beach and the way he left his dress shirt completely unbuttoned, he still draped that feathered coat over his shoulders.
"I can hardly believe it myself," Rosinante said. He winced against the harsh sunlight and offered his brother a sheepish grin.
Doffy did not return it.
That same harsh sunlight glinted off of those rose-tinted glasses as his brother regarded him.
"I looked for you," Doffy said lowly. He plunged his hands into the pockets of his white dress pants and cocked his head to the side, a grin suddenly slithering onto his face. "Where on Earth could you have gone, Little Brother?"
Rosinante took another drag of his cigarette.
"I don't like talking about it," he said, smoke peppering his words as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. "I'm here now. Isn't that enough, Doffy?"
Rosinante couldn't see his brother's eyes, but he could imagine those cold irises flickering and staring him down, reading his body language with laser-like focus.
"…It's enough. For now."
And it had been that simple.
A mere declaration from Doflamingo that Rosinante was good to join the Family and that was it. He was brought into one of the most infamous crime organizations the world had to offer without so much as a second thought.
Rosinante didn't know why it had been so easy. He just assumed that somewhere in Doffy's blood-tinged memories there was some sort of residual fondness for his brother, that or Doffy had just acted on a whim. But whatever it was, Rosinante knew better than to question it.
Especially when within the first few weeks his brother offered to make him an elite executive.
"You're sure?" Rosinante asked when Doffy made the offer.
"Who better to become the new Corazón than my own flesh and blood? A piece of my own heart?" Doffy responded grinning—always grinning.
Rosinante's fingers twitched as they tapped ash from his cigarette.
"All right," he said.
"You don't want the position?" Doffy pressed, still with that grin on his face.
"I never said that," Rosinante replied easily. He looked out the window in Doffy's small office and listened as rain hit the glass.
Doffy's office was small. It was just a little room in the warehouse they were squatting in while the Family navigated between different locations. The room was on the third floor, had wooden floors that squeaked in protest when anyone walked on them, and only two small windows against the far wall.
Usually, Rosinante could see dust specks floating through the air when the sun's rays would trickle in through those windows, but not today.
Not with the rain.
"Hm," Doffy hummed before a giggle came from him.
The sound made Rosinante suck hard enough on his cigarette that he found himself needing an immediate replacement.
"Think you have the stomach for it?" Doffy asked with that trademark grin.
Did he have the stomach for it?
Rosinante wasn't sure. His knowledge of the Family was limited to what was reported in the newspapers and what intel Sengoku could gather with the help of people like Tsuru.
He knew his brother ran weapons and drugs and even dabbled a little bit in gambling with acts such as fixing races and other competitions. He also knew that his brother had no problem with getting his hands dirty or making his subordinates get their hands dirty. None of that alarmed Rosinante.
What alarmed Rosinante was the set in his brother's shoulders and jaw.
"Why wouldn't I?" Rosinante replied.
His brother's grin grew until it stretched from ear to ear, just in time for the rain to slow and for the sun to stream in through the dirty glass and fall just across Doffy's glasses.
Rosinante couldn't see his eyes though.
Only dust specks.
Author's note:
Because ofc I'm writing another Modern AU. That's all I friggen do.
I've been rereading Dressrosa so I have a lot of feelings right now.
This isn't going to be as long as my other fics. Only 10 chapters in total! I just really wanted to take a crack at writing these characters in this type of setting. Drop a review with any and all feedback! It is BEYOND appreciated!