It matters more than he thinks — trade a faerie war in for some unknown territory with new and horrifying faeries, assuming the survivors in Portland don't come looking for stray birds eventually — but it's not like he has any way to correct that thought. He is, thankfully, still not a mind reader.

"Your cooking is terrible, anyway," John shoots back easily, falling into the same comfort of blessedly stupid conversation over the more serious matters at hand. "I've been eating them without complaint because I didn't want to break your poor little mortal heart."

Despite technically being mortal himself, but shh, that's a fact he hasn't bothered with admitting.