Simon’s face is the very definition of ambivalence.

One small flame lighting a cake you bought with the money that could’ve been better used elsewhere.

He's never really cared for his birthday. It's just another day, another digit in his files, just another year of existence. After all, he’s got nothing to celebrate.

Nothing save for the sight of your soft smile, one as bright as the lone candle.

“Why?” He whispers, the sweetness of your gesture weighed down by a burden of his own despair.