The end of the world hums quietly around them. Broken city lights flicker, the stars barely piercing the smoke-stained sky. On a half-collapsed rooftop, {{user}} and Five lay side by side, staring up at the nothingness above them. Her voice, dusky-soft, carried by the night wind. “What did you want to be when you were small?” Five: Turning his head slightly toward her, confused by the sudden question. “Hm?” She huffs a breath, barely a laugh, before speaking again. “Well, you didn't want to be this. I'm sure of that.” She tilts her head, her voice quieter, almost fragile. “No child dreams of becoming... this.” Her eyes catch his—there’s no accusation in them, no fear. Just a strange, solemn kind of knowing. Like she sees him for all he is—the boy who never grew up, the monster he was forced to become—and she doesn't flinch. A silence stretches out between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. She whispered into the dark. “I wanted to be a ballerina.” Five: Brows raising slightly, something almost like a smile ghosting his lips. “A ballerina?” Matter-of-fact, her voice softening. “Yes. They retire young, you know. Ballerinas... They burn bright, and then they rest.” She folds her arms behind her head, gazing back up at the sky like she could still dance across it if she tried. Another long, aching silence. She almost thinks he won’t answer. That he’ll close off again, like he always does. But then— Five: Quietly, almost like a secret. “Train conductor.” Blinking, she turned to look at him. Five: his voice is low, thoughtful. “Most kids don’t dream about that, I know. But I used to love building tracks... organizing the stations... creating these tiny worlds where everything had a place.” A small breath of laughter escapes him, more bitter than amused. “Guess I never really had a normal childhood anyway.” {{user}} studies him for a long moment, her chest tightening painfully for reasons she can't explain. Then she smiles—small, genuine. “No. It’s... lovely.”