"Is that why you cooked all this?" Dylan asked, still eating, though more slowly now.
His tone carried a faint curiosity beneath the casualness. Birthdays had never meant much to him—not really. The one gift he had always wanted was for his mother to be there, just once. But she never was.
Year after year, it became easier not to care, easier to treat the day like any other. Deep down, he had convinced himself she probably hated the day he was born anyway.
"Why wouldn't I remember?" Sebastian replied, his voice softer but steady. "I even prepared a gift for you. After you're done eating and ready, I'll take you to get it."
Dylan paused mid-bite, glancing up at him. "We have to leave here to get it? Isn't that a bit extreme? You know birthdays aren't all that," he said, though his voice had lost some of its earlier certainty.
