The question catches Dylan off guard. His gaze turns downward, brow furrowed in thought. There's a spiteful part of him that wants to say no, as the long stretches of abandonment in relatively recent months are fresh in his mind. For the few months leading up to the Confluence that had pulled him to this world, Dylan may as well have been an orphan.

But... Dylan knows that there are certain responsibilities that come with his father's new powerset. And he knows it's probably for the best that his dad prioritizes them over him.

Even if he hates it.

"I don't know," Dylan finally says. "I mean, they didn't actually know I existed for most of my life. I was raised by my grandpa." There's a pause as some old, unpleasant memories start bubbling up — The resentful glares his grandfather would periodically shoot him, how he'd unleash hell on Dylan for any perceived slight. Growing up, he'd become quite adept at performing first aid on himself. "And he was... bad."

Dylan leans against the ornate stone wall of the Opherium, turning his gaze skyward as he's lost in thought. "When dad and Venom found me and got me out of there... they tried. They could barely take care of themselves, but they did everything he could to make sure I was safe." What a novel sensation it had been to feel completely safe at home. Not just safe, but wanted. It had taken some getting used to.

Of course, here in this world, when this Other Eddie had been here... he'd grown accustomed to it all over again.

He turns his gaze back to Sephiroth. "So I... I guess yes? But my idea of what's good is probably skewed by the first twelve years of my life."