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“When's your birthday?” you ask one day. The question has been burning inside you for a while, and despite your suspicions at the answer, you ask it anyways. You are laying with your head resting on Sym's chest. His fingers lazily playing with your hair while he swipes through holovids—one of his favourite pastimes. You turn to look at him and his alien eyes sparkle at your question as they meet your gaze.
“My birthday?” he muses, the words foreign on his tongue. “I don't have one; such a concept does not exist for us,” he says.
“Sure but you must have some sort of … beginning?” you press. “What about this form? This …body?” Your cheeks flush with heat against your will at the mention of his body, and a playful smile dances on Sym's lips when he notices.
“Mmmm,” he says. “I… did not mark the date in my mind, no.”
“You could just choose a birthday,” you say. “Why not? So, if you did have a birthday, when would it be?”
He taps a slender finger to his lips, the way he always does when he’s pondering something. He is quiet for so long that you begin to wonder if he is even going to answer, when finally he opens his mouth to speak.
“Glow,” he says. The answer feels so right that you wonder why you didn’t think of it yourself. After a moment of silence, he adds, “My favourite time of year."
You have now come to see the season for its beauty, no longer a marker of the annual attacks. The sense of fear and nervous anticipation has been replaced with quiet beauty, the hum of the planet reminding you of its vibrancy, how alive everything is, and you can see why it’s his favourite time of year. You don’t discuss the topic of birthdays any further, but your mind is already whirring with plans for next Glow.
After a few months of careful preparation, the time has come. You gather everything you need in a large picnic basket and bring it out to your special place, on the wresting ridges. You take extra care watching your footing in the dim light, although you’ve gotten much better at navigating in the dim. It wouldn’t do to fall to your death just before unveiling the surprise party—that would be one way to alert Sym to your location, you chuckle. The open, meadow-like space feels particularly alive at this time of year, humming with the vibrations of the planet and the wormhole. This is one of the few times you’ve been to the ridges during this season, so the dark, glowing landscape is a vibrant treat. You sit on the blanket, laying back on your hands to take it all in while you wait for Sym to show up. You know he will find you here, the invisible string connecting the two inevitably drawing him in to be in the right place at the right time and like always, he finds you. You don’t hear him sneak up behind you, and his slender fingers cover your eyes as he leans his lips to your ear.
“Hello, my sugarbug,” he murmurs. “What do we have here?”
He moves his arms to encircle you and you lean into his embrace, a smile on your face. The comfort of his embrace makes you feel utterly at home, and the excitement of your surprise thrills you.
“Have a seat,” you say as you gesture to the blanket you’ve laid out. He does so, crossing his legs and sitting bird-like, his head cocked in curiosity as you rummage in your picnic basket. You can sense his eagerness, the unspoken hurry up just like an Earth child on Christmas morning.
“Surprise!" you say as you produce a small, gift-wrapped package. "Happy birthday!"
“Oh!” exclaims Sym, his body language giving off pure joy as he accepts the parcel. He unwraps it carefully, revealing a woven friendship bracelet. Or, well, more like a more-than-friendship bracelet. You couldn't decide which colour to choose, and so you settled on a rainbow. He smiles widely. You move to tie it around his delicate wrist, the colours vibrant against his pale skin. “What a beautiful gift! I can’t express my gratitude enough.” He holds his arm up, examining the bracelet from different angles. “How marvelous,” he says softly.
You rummage in your basket some more and produce two paper birthday hats with a little pom-pom on the top and a slightly too small chin strap. You place one on Sym’s head, and then put on your own. He laughs. “Well now it’s a real birthday party, isn’t it! How fantastic!” His excitement is contagious; you can tell he is thrilled. You can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looks, but it’s also incredibly adorable. You know you must look ridiculous as well.
When you turn back to the picnic basket, Sym exclaims, “There’s still more!” As you pull out the food, Sym’s eyes go wide. “What are these?” he asks, curious as always.
“Cupcakes!” you explain. “They’re like a cake but smaller.” In preparation, you had enlisted the help of Tammy, who is always thrilled to help with baking of any kind, and she relishes the opportunity to add her extra special flourish. Together, you baked a tray of cupcakes with an assortment of flavours. You couldn’t decide on a single flavour, so you don’t. Tammy is happy to indulge her culinary creativity, and so she included some new Vertumna flavours (bobberfruit, blep) along with some Earth classics (chocolate, vanilla). The tray is an assortment of each flavour, and you offer the tray to Sym first. His brow furrows in indecision.
“How am I supposed to choose?” he asks.
“I could choose one for you,” you smile. “I think you might like the chocolate ones,” you say, pointing to a fudgey brown one. You pick it up and hand it to Sym who inspects it before moving to take a bite. “Wait!” you say, stopping him. “Not yet.” He eyes you curiously as you produce a candle and place it into the cupcake, lighting it. The flame dances in front of him.
“Now you make a wish,” you instruct, “and then blow out the candle.”
Sym nods, suddenly solemn. He pauses for a long moment to think before he carefully blows out the candle with a single breath. Your eyes meet and he smiles at you in his mischievous way, the way you have come to recognize when you know he isn’t going to tell you if you ask. You instead remove the candle from the cupcake, placing it back in the basket. You turn back to the tray of cupcakes to pick your own. You are partial to the belp; a bit of an acquired taste in baked good form, but it has an interesting, almost spicy twist that pairs nicely with the sweetness of the frosting.
“Dig in,” you say. He takes it readily and takes a bite. His eyes close and he lets out a soft moan of delight, relishing the flavour.
“Incredible!” he says. “I’ve tasted nothing like it before.” He has a gob of icing on his top lip, and you reach out to wipe it off with your finger. He licks it off of your finger with a smile.
After you both enjoy your fill of the sweets, you lay back on the picnic blanket, gazing up at the beauty of the sky together. There is a moment of content silence between the two of you, listening to the vibrations of the wormhole and the sounds of your breathing.
Sym eventually breaks the silence, turning to you. “Thank you for this wonderful surprise,” he says, sitting up and taking your hands. “I had a wonderful birthday.”
“You’re welcome,” you reply. A sudden shyness comes over you and you duck your head. He runs his fingers through your hair, tucking a lock behind your ear before his hand comes to your chin, tilting your head upwards to look at him. You bring your eyes up to look into his, shimmering, silver, so easy to be lost in.
“Happy birthday,” you tell him again, before kissing him deeply.