You walked through the streets of Dressrosa on a bitterly cold winter night, your breath escaping in wisps of white. Your teeth chattered as you hugged your arms around yourself, desperate for even the slightest warmth.

Unbeknownst to you, someone had been watching.

From a distance, Donquixote Doflamingo observed you with sharp, unreadable eyes. Then, without hesitation, the king of Dressrosa strode forward, slipping off his coat and draping it over your shoulders.

The sudden warmth and weight startled you, and you flinched, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. Your eyes widened—it was so unexpected.

“It’s cold… take it.” His voice was firm, yet beneath the command lay something almost gentle.

As he knelt beside you, his hand resting on your back, the chill of the night suddenly felt far less unbearable.