"Do you remember when we first met?".

"How could I not? I thought you looked cute as hell, with those strange braids and that pink jumper".

"French braids, you lovely fool, that's how they're called".

"Got it. They made you look so sweet…and feminine. You look more like a young woman, rather than a teen, did you know that?".

"Wait, how old do you think I am?".

"Uh…aren't you my age? Thirteen years old?".

"I turned fifteen that very same day".

"…I guess I'm into old women, then".

"Oh MY GOD, you're such an idiot!".

"Probably, but not just any other one: I'm your idiot".

"Yeah…mine".

"So we met on your birthday?".

"Yeah".

"Mmmmh".

"What?".

"Nothing. It's just…I would have liked to celebrate it with you".

"Oh, it would have been lovely…and sadly your birthday has passed too…".

"Right, but mine has no importance whatsoever. It looses it when you have to share it with other six strangers your whole life".

"Do you even celebrate, at the Academy?".

"I think Mom would like to bake us cakes and give us presents, but probably Father doesn't give her permission to actually do so…hence no, we only get a grand - grander than usual, I mean - speech about how we've been 'blessed' with our abilities, ad therefore invested with the greatest of responsibilities…or some shit like that. And then we can resume training and studying, like any other day".

"God…it sucks!".

"It really does, yes".

"Sorry, babe, it came out badly…".

"No, you're absolutely right. It all sucks".

"Is there…at least something you like, of your life?".

"Apart from you? Not really".

"I love you, Five".

"And thank goodness for it. I…I love you too, Marben".


A/N: …thhhhhaaaaaaaank youuuuuuuuuuuu…