LEECH
Author's note:
• This is the English version of fanfic "LEECH" about Doflamingo and Crocodile from One Piece. I wrote this in Vietnamese a long time ago, and now I decide to translate it into English. English is not my mother tongue, so I did try my best to translate it.
• This story is based on the song LEECH of the Gazette. I use the lyrics translation from Defective Tragedy (defectivetragedy.com).
Enjoy!
*****
The night, cold and merciless, hurled a razor-edged bolt of lightning upon the world, its thunder shaking the dust-fogged windowpane. Crocodile drew the curtain shut, then returned to the bed. He pressed his lips against his lover's forehead, his hand glittering with golden rings that caught the wan light of the bedroom. Heat swelled and mingled with steam as the first drops of rain descended upon the earth.
"Doflamingo, you've slept far too long."
Crocodile stroked the bristling tufts of Doflamingo's hair, smiling in quiet satisfaction. He reached for the empty vial on the table and tossed it into the trash. The relentless drumming of the rain invaded his ears, summoning blurred visions deep within him. The sea is always so intense, that never meant for someone like Crocodile, so now he just forever trap himself on desolate islands, playing a game of Monopoly against fools who would always lose. But now Doflamingo was here with him.
Nobody believes you.
Nobody believes you.
Nobody believes you.
Doflamingo had been by Crocodile's side for so long, so long that Doflamingo doubted he could still remember the years. Each time he awoke, a different sky greeted him. Sometimes the sun was sinking, drowning the horizon in twilight. Sometimes it was the blinding brilliance of noon. Today, it was the tender sweetness of a morning after rain. The damp scent of earth rose in the air, the leaves heavy with droplets that slid down with a crisp tick. The sunflower outside the window had drunk itself into ruin, its head bowed and wilted, while only the weeds grew wild and green. He opened the window and drew in a refreshing breath.
No matter what lay beyond, each time he woke he would always see Crocodile here. The man sat slumped on half the bed, dozing. A ragged newspaper dated May the eighth lay across his lap. He returned to the bed and shook him gently.
"Hey, wake up. You can't just fall asleep sitting like that."
"Mmm..."
Crocodile's eyes fluttered open, bleary. He reached for Doflamingo's neck and pulled him down. His breath fanned against the man's cheek, his long black lashes drooping with weariness. Then he spoke, his voice deep, rough-edged, unraveling at the seams:
"Doflamingo, sleep with me."
The Marble wall was smeared high with mud
The pain that struck you down won't release you
Imperfection spilled out over everything
An Expression that swallowed perfection
"Isn't it already morning? Just how late did you stay up?" Doflamingo yawned then asked, he held Crocodile close.
Crocodile head rested on the lover's chest. His breath is heavy, thick with the bitter stench of cigars. He murmur without any reply. Doflamingo could hear the beat of Crocodile's heart pressing down, stubbornly trying to fuse itself with his own.
"I was only busy." At last Crocodile spoke, but it wasn't the reply Doflamingo had wanted. Crocodile knew that, too. "I was only thinking about what you told me."
What had he told him? Doflamingo couldn't remember, or perhaps he simply refused to summon it back. But Crocodile couldn't forget the look on his face as he said it — that indifferent mask, as though he'd just tossed off a joke and laughed at himself for it. Yet Doflamingo had never been that strong. For all that people imagined of him, he was ordinary, fragile, fractured. Only Crocodile knew that truth. He held him tighter, brushing his lover's face with the slow, deliberate touch of his jeweled fingers.
I who sings black again. I who dyes black again.
An Insult that bashes your head in time and time again
Crocodile had seen him jolt awake in the middle of the night, after only a few hours of restless sleep. The scent of their lovemaking still clung faintly to their bodies, but sex was no cure-all. Doflamingo clutched his head with trembling hands, groping blindly for the sunglasses on the nightstand, only to knock them down instead. They struck the floor with a sharp clatter, rolling across the boards. That dry, brittle sound tore Crocodile from his slumber.
"Doflamingo?" He rose, reaching for him, calling his name. But in the murky haze of Doflamingo's eyes, Crocodile could see he was no longer there. Doflamingo began to cry with a face stripped of tears, his shoulders shaking in a grotesque, twisted fit beyond his own control. Crocodile's shadow spilled across his back, blotched and filthy against him. He wrapped his arms around Doflamingo from behind, tightening the hold with deliberate calm. Doflamingo's heart pounded, wild and panicked against his ribs.
"I'm here, Doflamingo. There's nothing to be afraid of anymore."
The reassurance didn't soothe Doflamingo, yet neither did he push Crocodile away. Something had stripped him of his usual brutality, but still he seized Crocodile's wrist, pulling it off. He would not allow himself to be touched like that.
"What have you done?"
Let's send a gallows in the last scene which you hope for.
Don't hush up a mistake.
Take responsibility.
"I haven't done anything. Don't let the nightmares devour you, Doflamingo." His voice was quiet, his hand patting gently against Doflamingo's back. The man buried his face in his palms, tormented and cornered. Doflamingo could neither open his eyes to face reality nor close them to sink into illusion. His head reeled, dragged into the black mire of memory, where red flames consumed his vision and curses rang out for sins he had never committed.
Crocodile slipped from the bed and went into the kitchen. He filled a glass with warm water, then opened a cupboard stuffed with bottles upon bottles of pills. One was already more than half empty, its label with the prescribed dosage torn away.
"Drink this. Your lips are all cracked." He offered the glass, his fingers brushing across Doflamingo's parched mouth. The man tilted his head upward, calmer now. A murmur slipped from him, and he pressed his lips to Crocodile's fingers.
"I'm a nuisance, aren't I?"
"Not at all. I still love you, Doflamingo. No matter what."
"Fufufu... Don't make it sound like you're such a kind-hearted." Doflamingo chuckled, rough and low, and took the glass from his hand. He drained it, set it on the table, and bent to retrieve his sunglasses from the floor. Then he folded Crocodile into his arms, resting his head against his lover's stomach as if seeking refuge.
Crocodile stroked the back of his neck, whispering, "Sleep now, and you won't feel this pain any longer."
You can't see it yet, can you; you don't know where the payoff is
Everything you wear on the outside is only for show
Doflamingo drifted once more into slumber, a deep, dreamless sleep. His breathing fell into steady rhythm, merging with the darkness. Crocodile held him close, pressing a kiss to his pale lips. He wondered what it was he was searching for in these long, heavy days, yet he couldn't stop himself. Those lips — warm and soft — brushed against his own. That body, broad and unyielding, lay still beneath his touch. Crocodile's arms wrapped around his neck, his hand cradling his face with quiet reverence.
"When you wake, you'll be alright." He whispered into Doflamingo's ear as though the man might truly hear. But Doflamingo remained sunk in sleep, his breath weighted and slow. Outside the window, the sunflower drooped, wilted in the night.
All you sold were phony ideas
I won't care about you anymore when you come crawling back to me
"I want to plant a sunflower."
Doflamingo had said it two or three months ago, while spreading butter across a slice of bread. Sunlight poured in long streaks across the wooden floor, stirring some dim reminder of May. Doflamingo hadn't measured time like that in ages. Crocodile set a glass of milk on the table, nudging it toward him.
"You like sunflowers that much?"
"Well, you know... there is an old tale that a maiden who adored the sun god, but mortals can't ever reach divinity. Still, she loved him, watching him ride his chariot across the sky every day until she withered and died, becoming a sunflower. Even as a flower, she never stopped gazing upward at him. That kind of love... what do you think of it?"
Doflamingo chewed his bread while rambling, though his words had little to do with the question Crocodile tossed out. Crocodile only murmured in response. Yet a few days later, he allowed Doflamingo to plant one just outside the bedroom window. Just a single flower.
Can you hear the counting song of pain, [baby]?
[I want to scatter your face.]
That flower told Doflamingo about how time had flown. He'd been trapped in one place for three months already. Each day was nothing more than waking, eating, bathing, trading a few words with Crocodile, then sinking into sex. Sometimes it was hurried, almost desperate, and afterward his chest would ache with a suffocating heaviness. His heart clenched as he grabbed Crocodile's hips, as he stroked and kissed and bit at his lips. And Crocodile wept. Doflamingo couldn't understand why.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No, keep going. It's just..."
Crocodile left the words hanging there, as if even if Doflamingo pressed him, the answer would be given only to the void. Still, the tears slid soundlessly, soaking into his hair. Only when their lovemaking was over did the weeping stop. Then Crocodile clung to him, clutching at him as though to anchor himself.
"Doflamingo, do you love me?"
"I've always loved you, haven't I?"
The answer is depicted in the reflection in your eyes
[I want to scatter your trick.]
The sun rose harsh and sweltering on a summer's day. The sunflower outside blazed in full bloom, as if grinning at the vast, open sky. Doflamingo stirred awake, sluggish, heavy. He had slept dreamlessly, and he knew at least half a day had slipped past him.
Crocodile wasn't home. He had gone somewhere, perhaps for work, or perhaps just to buy stuffs to restock the fridge. Doflamingo staggered into the kitchen, rummaging halfheartedly for the cereal he never remembered where Crocodile kept it. He opened cupboard after cupboard until his hand fell on one that was locked. The stubborn wood door refused to budge, stirring both his curiosity and a raw unease at whatever truth it guarded. The fragile heart of a man is not always capable of bearing reality's cruelty.
But Doflamingo saw it all the same. No lock could ever truly keep him out. And yet he could not bring himself to look directly at the bottles crammed inside, stacked high with sedatives. One of them was already half gone, the dosage marked higher than any normal prescription. He understood at once what that meant. Those sleeping pills had been for him—that was why he drifted endlessly in and out of slumber, why his days had shrunk to only a few waking hours before collapsing back into oblivion. Time had not abandoned him. He actually had abandoned himself.
He slammed the cupboard door shut, pretending as if he had never seen it. But his mind wouldn't let go. He thought of the meals Crocodile prepared, the glasses of water he pressed into his hands, every little thing.
"What the hell are you thinking?"
Why drug him like this, for so long? Doflamingo couldn't fathom it. Love doesn't make two people understand each other, not when it's a love with so few words. Their conversations had rarely been about themselves.
Can you hear the counting song of pain, [baby]?
[I want to scatter your excuse.]
"I did it for you." Crocodile's answer fell flat against Doflamingo's accusation.
Crocodile exhaled, the sigh heavy with disappointment. Perhaps he had expected Doflamingo to overlook it, to quietly accept his reasoning without protest. But Doflamingo was never the kind to sit still and let things pass. He demanded answers. He pressed, voice sharpening into a growl:
"For me? How the hell is that for me?"
"You hardly dream of nightmares anymore, do you?"
Because even now these dark days won't fade away...
A prosecute. Your luck will run out someday.
Hatred to you is a proper act.
If one slept deeply enough, even dreams became nothing but void. Doflamingo had truly stopped dreaming of them. No more blazing red fires casting grotesque sparks, no more pain squeezing his arms in torment. He couldn't even dream of the old days—starvation, the filthy, dust-choked slums. His world had changed, and the past no longer haunted him.
"But I never asked you to do it, Crocodile."
"True, it was my own selfish will." Crocodile replied. He saw his own disappointment reflected in Doflamingo's eyes, and he saw Doflamingo's disappointment mirrored in his. Nothing is worse than a relationship where both are disappointed in each other, for no one can truly grasp what the other is thinking.
"Whenever you wake from nightmares, you forget me and sink back into that world, as if I'd never existed in your life."
Crocodile smiled coldly, lighting a cigar to steady himself against the unease rising in his chest. It had been a long time since they'd argued like this. Doflamingo's expression was hard, clenched — not a smile, just sharp resentment. He felt as if Crocodile was blaming him, saying he shouldn't have dreamed those things. But he had no control over his dreams.
"I'll find a way to forget it all. You don't have to do meaningless things for me."
Though at times you yearn to block out the memory of
your widening cracks, your emptiness, and your powerlessness,
you won't be able to forget a thing
"You won't forget anything, Doflamingo. You know that."
"Even so, you don't have the right to do whatever you want."
Doflamingo's words cut sharp, anger simmering as if he had never truly been angry before. But his fury didn't explode outward—he didn't lash out, didn't break anything. His hands gripped the edge of the table, his face twisted in torment. Yet the disappointment etched on Crocodile's face made him hesitate. Doflamingo turned away, inhaled deeply, and exhaled all the tangled emotions coiling in his chest. His voice softened.
"Be honest, Crocodile. What is it you want? Those nightmares aren't really the problem. I've never harmed you because of them."
No lie could slip past Doflamingo. Even Crocodile couldn't hide an eel in a sack forever. Crocodile likely admired his sharp wit, yet he also feared it—fearing the bird might one day find the sky, break free, and vanish forever.
"I want you to stay here with me."
Doflamingo let out a harsh, ironic laugh.
"Fufufu... Forever?"
"Yes. Forever."
"What the hell is forever? One day either you or I will die. No one can stay here forever."
You are the same as a leech which sucks blood to live.
Let's send a gallows in the last scene which you hope for.
Don't hush up a mistake. Take responsibility.
"Then until one of us dies."
Crocodile stated it firmly. Doflamingo arched an eyebrow, then laughed. His laughter echoed out to the courtyard, reverberated up the stairs, stretching as if to touch the blue sky itself.
"Fufufu... We're not one of those naive couples out there in the world."
Meaning that if he ever wanted to leave, he would find a way to kill Crocodile—or Crocodile would have to kill him. Crocodile surged forward, his hand clamping around Doflamingo's throat, squeezing. But Doflamingo remained detached, indifferent:
"Yes. That's exactly it. That's our ending."
"As long as you stay, that ending will never come, Doflamingo."
Crocodile released him, stroking his jaw, then tracing down to the rise and fall of his chest. He touched him with deliberate gentleness, careful not to hurt him even slightly, yet haunted by the shadows of uncertain futures.
Doflamingo seized his wrist. His large, warm hand enveloped Crocodile's rough knuckles, then with a cruel decisiveness, he yanked it away, rejecting the touch entirely.
You can't see it yet, can you; you don't know where the payoff is
Everything you wear on the outside is only for show
"Don't act like you're such a kind-hearted, Crocodile."
Even as Doflamingo pulled his hand away, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to Crocodile's forehead. Was it a kiss of forgiveness?
"Do you want this? Me pretending to be a hypocrite, obedient and blind puppet in the palm of your hand? Yeah—if I act like I know nothing, keep taking the pills, stay by your side forever until we both grow old and die... would you be happy then? Would you still love me?"
All you sold were phony ideas
I won't care about you anymore when you come crawling back to me
Why did he challenge him with such ruthless words? Crocodile felt the tremor of fear rattle through his chest, a nausea rising to his throat that left him dizzy, reeling. His own words lodged helplessly in a mind spinning with confusion. He rested his head against Doflamingo's chest, and the man let him. He fingered the nape of Crocodile's hair, waiting for a reply, though he knew he expected nothing at all.
The sky hung heavy, oppressive, as if even the heavens condemned themselves. The sunflower outside drooped, swaying listlessly in the passing gusts. After a long, trembling pause, Crocodile found his voice, hoarse and pained:
"I love you, no matter what."
"Fufufu... Is that so?"
Can you hear the counting song of pain, [baby]?
[I want to scatter your face.]
The answer reflected in your eyes disappears
[I want to scatter your trick.]
Can you hear the counting song of pain, [baby]?
[I want to scatter your excuse.]
The quarrel ended there. Doflamingo never brought it up again, yet he no longer trusted anything Crocodile offered. He swept every pill he could find into the trash. Crocodile, even he saw it, remained silent without stopping. He knew well that Doflamingo would not endure long without them.
It was a pure, simple, and ruthless addiction. Doflamingo's mind emptied, his heart throbbed and ached with every beat, making his limbs tremble and weaken. His eyes went vacant, and he wanted to crush everything around him.
"Damn it..." He snarled, springing from his chair and barreling into the kitchen. Doflamingo didn't even know why he'd gone there—what could he possibly need in this room? Instinctively, he smashed his head against the cabinets, shaking the cupboards, the pain making his mind reel until endorphins flooded through him, soothing the agony.
"Fufufu..." He laughed at himself, oblivious to Crocodile standing there. Doflamingo did not see him, just as when nightmares once submerged him, binding him in a world without Crocodile at all.
Trying to bury those dark days is pointless
I felt humiliation.
Crocodile had expected Doflamingo to fly into a rage and beg for help, but he did not. Nothing went according to the scripts Crocodile had imagined—no affair obediently following a carefully laid plan. Doflamingo was strong enough to press a knife against his own flesh, stubbornly resisting the cravings for the pills.
He had spent countless sleepless nights, hair tangled and matted, eyes sunken deep. He no longer had the strength to rage. He tried to sleep, but even when his body lay stubbornly still, his mind remained stark white, painfully awake. He could hear the wind shrieking outside, the birds chirping, the murmurs of passersby. At times, he could almost swear he heard the sound of sunlight itself. His head spun, nausea and agony wracked him. Whenever Crocodile approached, Doflamingo pushed him away.
"G-get away. I smell awful."
Sweat, blood, stomach acid—this chaos clung to him like a living nightmare. Perhaps Doflamingo even despised himself for it, yet Crocodile stepped forward anyway. He wrapped him in an embrace, letting the pungent scent of his cigar wash over Doflamingo, and said:
"Then we'll take a bath."
Reluctantly, Doflamingo struggled to his feet, swaying like a leaf in a storm. The floor beneath him felt like a hammock, tossing him off balance. Crocodile remained at his side, patiently taking his hand, lifting him upright, letting him lean on him. Doflamingo clung reluctantly, his eyes lowering in despair.
This beautiful silence ripples with sadness, and even covering your eyes is a sin
Doflamingo remained silent as Crocodile climbed over him. Water still clung to his skin, the damp, pungent scent of soap lingering in the air. If only he could have reacted differently, if only he could have forced out a sardonic, teasing laugh as usual, grabbed Crocodile's waist, stroked the delicate skin of his thigh. But he could do nothing. He let his body surrender to the hollow lust, lying there like a lifeless toy. A shadow of sorrow had settled in his eyes, darker than death itself.
"No matter what you are, I will still love you." Crocodile whispered as he found his own satisfaction. He did not expect that Doflamingo had smiled—a faint, hollow smile, neither joyful nor sorrowful. Yet he gave no reply. Doflamingo had left his words behind in dreams, in places he could no longer reach. Outside the window, the sunflower had withered; even the sun could not compel it to rise toward the sky.
"As long as you speak, I'll always have pills for you, Doflamingo. Why don't you call out to me?"
A prosecute.
Your luck will run out someday.
"Why don't you ask why I'm still here?"
Doflamingo exhaled through clenched teeth, his red-rimmed eyes sluggishly meeting Crocodile's gaze. His hand had lost its warmth, weaker now, trembling. He touched Crocodile, brushing his cheek, letting that fragile pulse of feeling seep into Crocodile's heart.
"Love is not words, Crocodile."
"Then what is it?"
Crocodile took his hand, pressing a kiss to his rough fingers. It was as if half of Doflamingo's life had separated from him, lying there as he spoke of things he had never spoken before. It terrified Crocodile.
"It's a sunflower."
Not the maiden who adored the sun god so fiercely she became a flower, but rather that only by becoming a flower could the sun respond, nurturing her with warmth until she bloomed bright and vivid. Though the sun and the flower might be separated by countless miles, nothing could stop the sunflower from always turning toward the sun, and the sun's rays would always reach the flower.
Can you hear the counting song of pain, [baby]?
You are the same as a leech which sucks blood to live.
[You are the same as a leech which sucks blood to live.]
"Then why are you still here, Doflamingo?"
Even when Crocodile could not love him in that lofty way, even when what he had made him was nothing but a withered, barren flower, he still remained. Doflamingo reached out, clinging to him with every ounce of strength left in his trembling, weak muscles, and rasped a laugh:
"Because you want me to stay, don't you?"
Crocodile bowed his head onto his shoulder, his heart quivering. Yes, it was because he wanted him to—but did Doflamingo want it? Crocodile had never asked. He cradled Doflamingo's head, stroking his hair, his throat hoarse, voice breaking open:
"Doflamingo, sleep with me, please." It was a plea that might have echoed all the way to the gods. Doflamingo held him, eyes closing as if seeking a dream. He found himself amid ruins and ashes, the embers still warm where the fire had just died. Nightmares would come and go, but reality remained.
Doflamingo opened his eyes, searching for a familiar figure. Crocodile lay beside him, pressing a kiss to his pale, chapped lips, and whispered:
"Doflamingo, you've slept far too long."
"Is that so? Good morning."
[Fuck off.]
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