She found him in a graveyard, where so many things are loved and lost.
It was a graveyard for hamsters, but that ceased to matter in the lover's embrace of a starless night. The stars were there, oh yes, but they were marred, obscured by smog and seasons and sorrow. So much sorrow.
The tombstones were miniature, their writing delicately tooled; a tribute to the dead and decaying. In places the grass was stomped into depressed, yellowing patches, the smug smile of the moon snuggling in between them as though they were corpses. Their backs were broken, and they died for lack of a reason to live. He could identify.
Rising matronly beyond the boneyard tucked in its shameful corner of the clearing, the treehouse opened its limbs as though to welcome the dead hamsters home. No one doubted that the loyal beasts would have returned if they could, worms and scuttling insects seated comfortably in their gullets. But there were times when you could never go home again.
Tied to the highest railing of the highest bough was a single red balloon, no doubt placed by the lone victor of a climbing expedition aspired and fallen. The greatest mission accomplished, and no one to share it with but the silence pressing in. A lonely night breeze batted at the balloon, making it bob against the sullen sky like a ruby buoy in the sea.
"He's gone."
She placed her arms around the hunched shoulders, which shrunk from her touch as the emptiness swirled to engulf them both. "It'll stop hurting," she whispered gently, as though afraid to speak aloud and wake the dead. "After awhile. It'll stop."
For the first time, the boy with eyes too old to be a boy turned his stricken gaze to hers. She saw the ashen lips, the downtrodden mouth, the purple shadows which clutched and clung to sag the eyes of the girl reflected within his own, and wondered who it was she was trying to convince.
"Thirteen candles," he told her hoarsely, too loudly, before turning his gaze once more to the fresh-cut flowers laid at the head of one grave. He spoke no further, but they both heard the chuckle of the moonlight as it flowed to drown a single rose, saw the petals wither and die.
Together they huddled against the night, and felt the days of their lives fall around them like shriveled leaves.
"We thought we were different," he muttered at one point. "We thought we were different."
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Author's Note: A sentimental revisit to the category that I came to for in the first place. Written during the night I'm supposed to be writing an article for a due-date that's…well, would you look at that, it's today. I suppose I'd better get around to starting it soon. Anyway, I meant it to be about 2 and 5 on 1's 13th birthday, 'cause 2/5 pairing had me from the first episode I saw. Offhand I can't remember what that episode was, but Three/Four and Two/Five have always been my pairings, and frankly it at first did not occur to me that others could exist. It's 1 in the morning. I'm tired. G'night folks.