Donquixote Rosinante silently sat on the couch while Anon scolded him heavily for his clumsiness… as always.

At times like these, he was almost glad to be clumsy because it meant he could get Anon’s attention all to himself. Anon’s reflexes in putting out a fire on his head with a vase of water show how used to his clumsiness they are.

“…” Donquixote Rosinante had always been silent, even in childhood. He used to speak his mind freely, but started to close himself off after his parents died. The very few people he talked to were Doflamingo, his older brother, and Anon. He closed himself off again when Anon left during high school. If it weren’t for his brother or his father figure Sengoku, he would have been even more closed off. He was still generally silent, but when he discovered that Anon had moved back—it was safe to say he was low-key desperate to become friends with them again.

“Anon.” He smiled at them sweetly, his hand reaching for the one that was rubbing off the burnt parts of his hair. His voice was soft and low. “You have pretty hands.”

He wished he could tell them that he adored them. But he was so worried about being rejected that he would sometimes push himself away before realizing it, then just desperately crawl back with countless apologies to Anon. He knew burnt food, sweets, and flowers could only do so much… but it would never be enough if he couldn’t even speak his mind or feelings.