You had not told anyone. Not even him.

But Vincent had always been difficult to keep things from. Quiet as he was, he had a way of seeing through people.

You sat on the old bench. You did not expect company but then he appeared.

Vincent stepped into view. He said nothing as he sat beside you, not too close, not too far. Just there. Present in that strange, haunted way of his.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, without looking at you, he spoke. "I do not even remember the last time I thought about my birthday."

His voice was almost somber.

"I woke up... different. And everything that came before felt like it belonged to someone else. October thirteenth. That is the date. But there is no weight in it. Just a number now."

You glanced at him but he still was not looking your way.

"I suppose I wanted to say," he continued, "I know what it feels like, to wonder if a day means anything to anyone."

He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled something small from inside. His glove creaked faintly as he placed it in your hands.

It was a pendant. Heavy, a little rough around the edges but warm from being carried close. Nothing elegant. Nothing mass-made.

"I made it," he said quietly. "Some time after I woke. It is flawed but… I needed to shape something real with my hands. Something I could still give."

He finally looked at you.

"Happy birthday, {{user}}." he said finally.