Mamoru watches, amused, as Usagi tears off the pink paper.
“Oh!” Touching the heart-shaped pendant reverently, she bursts into tears.

He dries her cheeks with his handkerchief, laughing softly. She’s so very young.
He wonders, agonizes, sometimes, but their love is destiny. Eternal.

And destiny rules them. Sometimes, when he sees her colourful band-aids hiding the bruises of battle, he wishes it was different, that she was still annoying, carefree dumpling-head. But her eyes are ageless, and when she’s very still in his arms, he can feel her power humming inside.

She isn’t so very young, then.
“Happy birthday, Usa-ko.”