Wesker had never celebrated a birthday. Not once. He saw the concept as trivial… a distraction from progress, from control, from power.

Why should he waste time honoring the day he was born, a day chosen by fate and biology?

So when the calendar ticked silently toward that date, he did what he always did: ignored it. Buried it under reports, data, and silence. The world didn’t need to acknowledge it, and neither did he.

But you did.

He returned home that evening, expecting the same old routine. But instead, the lights were dimmed and warm, flickering gently from the scattered candles placed with care around the dining room. The scent of his favorite meal drifted in the air, cooked and seasoned to perfection. A wine glass waited for him, untouched, beside yours.

He froze at the doorway.

“I thought I told you I don’t-” Wesker began, his voice firm, but not unkind.