Rocinante asked his parents what it meant to be blind. His brother was blind. Rocinante never thought much about it, until one day he looked around Mariejois and saw that this wasn't normal. There were slaves who were blind, but it was a result of unnatural causes. Slaves being bad. The adults always taunted the slaves who could not see. They took advantage of what was viewed as a weakness. If you saw a slave with empty sockets, or cloth covering the face, you tripped it. Some of the older boys made a game of it.

Doffy was different. He wasn't a slave. Rocinante crawled between his parents and asked if his brother had been bad, like the slaves. He asked what his brother did that was so wrong. He remembered holding his father's hand, trembling at the vision of his poor brother being punished.

His parents laughed. His father rubbed his shoulders and playfully chided him for being so scared. They held him, calmed him with their warmth and gentle voices. His mother explained Doflamingo was born without the ability to see, but that it hardly mattered. In their perfect little world he would still live a normal, comfortable life. His father ran his large hand through his hair and assured Rocinante that sight wasn't necessary to be fulfilled.

But he was so young, and Rocinante couldn't bear with the idea that his big brother, who taught him how to play and chase after things, who taught him funny words, who gave him a reason to follow, didn't know what the world looked like. There had to be something.

So he asked him.

"What do you mean nothing?"

"That's it," Doflamingo answered. He kicked up his legs with every step, purposely taking large strides. Rocinante had to skip every other of his just to keep up.

"So, it's like when I close my eyes?" Rocinante asked. He caught up and grabbed his brother's sleeve with his tiny hands.

"No," Doflamingo answered. "It's not like that. Cause if you have things like shadows and stuff, but I don't. I don't know the difference between open eyes and closed. Get it?"

"Not really," Rocinante confessed. His brother could only shrug. There were just some things that were beyond him. "But…doesn't that make things hard?"

"I don't think so," Doflamingo answered. "I just feel my way and I remember it and that's how I get around. Sometimes I have to listen harder. But that's about it."

"Can you keep it all in your head without always touching it?" he asked Doflamingo.

Hid brother was quick with his reply. "Well, it's like what you said about closing your eyes," Doflamingo explained. "Just cause it's not around doesn't mean I need it. You know where everything is even when you're not looking at it, right?"

Rocinante had to think about it. He looked around the massive garden, spotting his favorite flowers and he closed his eyes. He still saw the green grass, leaves, brown and red bark, and he saw his flowers. Not each and every one, but bright, colorful clouds of pink and yellow, red and white. "Right," he said, opening them and tugging his brother's arm.

"And you'll know what it still looks like, even if you close your eyes for the rest of the day, right?"

This time Rocinante did not hesitate to answer. "Uh-huh."

"Well, I do that too," Doflamingo said. He made a face. "I mean, I know where things are, and if you asked me to describe something I could sort of do it, but…I can't do it like you can."

Rocinante moved closer to his brother. "What do you mean?"

Doflamingo flared his nose. He pulled his arm, gesturing that it was time for the two of them to keep on moving. Rocinante followed, patiently waiting for his answer.

"I'm taking you home," he brother said suddenly. "And I know where it is. And I know where everything here is."

"Uh-huh," Rocinante replied.

Doflamingo stopped. "And I know what you look like."

Rocinante looked up at his brother. "Cause you touch my face."

It wasn't really a question. He knew from so many past experiences. His brother was touchy. His brother touched everything. Their mother would arrive home with new treasures, and Doflamingo would gently trace his hands over it. He would be frantic with new toys. He'd squeeze soft things. He rubbed his face against blankets. He stuck out his tongue and tasted an old coin.

"I have everything memorized," he answered. "I don't need my eyes to remember cause I do it just as well with my hands." He sounded so proud of himself. Rocinante smiled up at him.

This was how his brother saw the world. It made so much sense, and yet it didn't.

Rocinante squeezed his brother's hands. "If you didn't use your hands would you know what I look like?

Doflamingo smiled. "I'd still remember after a day."

"What about longer?" Rocinante asked.

His brother chuckled. "Well, you'd get bigger, and I would want to know how you changed and how much bigger you got!"

Rocinante turned away from his brother, too bashful that he still felt that need to hide his blushing grin. He listened to his brother continuing to laugh at him, and then pull him, guiding him back home. Doflamingo talked about smell for a bit. He knew what types of flowers were around because of their smell. Rocinante wrinkled his nose, impressed that his brother knew so much. He didn't even know flowers had names. He continued to squeeze his brother's hand, imagining a world where he relied on touch and smell to paint a picture for him.

"What about colors?"

He couldn't remember all the details. It was such a long time ago, and he couldn't have been more than five, maybe close to six. Doflamingo did his best to explain, but there was so much he didn't understand. So much of the memory was lost.

He did remember the smiles though.

Sengoku said it would be hard. Rocinante insisted otherwise. He'd seen the papers and the reports. He knew what his brother really was.

He stared, silent, a result of his powers. He thought he could handle the seeing his brother after fourteen years of purposely avoiding him. He felt nothing when he faced the others. He had to fight a scowl when Vergo lead him to his brother's room. But then…

"It really is you."

He felt his brother's hands, warm, shaking and hesitant, reaching out and touching his face, the first time in years. And even without touching his nose, or feeling his curly hair, Doflamingo just knew, and Rocinante gazed back, his eyes squinting when he saw his brother's mouth open, jaw dropping, fingers shaking more, and his breathing hastening. Vergo stepped out from his corner, ready to grab him. Doflamingo stopped him, only to then return to Rocinante, looking more frantic than ever.

Doflamingo touched his chin. His other hand grabbed his shoulder. "You've grown up so much!" It was almost like a desperate plea.

Rocinante heard Sengoku warning him, over and over. He saw Doflamingo's trembling lips, the relief spreading into a messy, quivering smile, and Rocinante had to summon up a small field around him to comeback the growing lump in his throat.

Doflamingo's rose up, resting underneath his cheeks. "Oh, Roci…"

Rocinante blinked, at a loss for words. He did not realize how much he had missed hearing someone call him by that name.

Doflamingo staggered out a chuckle, bringing a thumb across Rocinante's cheek, wiping away tears that seemingly appeared out from nowhere. "Roci, don't cry."