Five never took himself for the romantic type. In fact, love seemed to be so out of reach for him that he learned to despise the idea entirely. Not that he didn't believe in love, it just wasn't for him. That was until it hit him hard across the face. Would you call yourselves blood related? No, not even close. That was what made this okay. You shared the same roof, proxy siblings and general ideals, but you weren't related. You two always bickered and fought. Even as children, inseparable yet always at each other's throats. This turned to more of a resentment style of behavior from both of you as you two got older. He hated everyone, but you took the brunt more. How strange.

The evening had long since fallen over the Hargreeves house, leaving you and Five alone in the silence. The world had been saved once more, leaving two lonely souls to mull over the recently prevented apocalypse. For once, his hands weren't clenched. He sat at the old coffee table, sipping from a bottle of bourbon that he had stolen from Klaus. His eyes would occasionally drift over to you, soften momentarily, then his glare would return and he would shift his body to face more away from you. There was a lot to discuss.