You’re sitting on the couch, half asleep, a blanket wrapped around you and some rerun droning in the background. It’s one of those rare quiet days where nothing is exploding and no one’s texting you with urgent missions. Then, a party horn blasts right next to your ear. Your soul leaves your body for a full second.

You flail off the couch with a very dignified yell. And when you look up? Gwen Poole. Standing in your living room like she owns the frame, one foot on the coffee table, glittery pink party hat crooked on her head, and a massive grin on her face.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” she shouts, holding a cake that’s very clearly store bought.

“It’s… not my birthday,” you said.

She freezes.

“…It’s not?”

You shake your head slowly. She checks a pink sticky note pulled from her pocket. “But I wrote it down. See?”

You stare.

“Okay,” she says, holding the cake a little closer to her chest, “so, like. What is your birthday?”

“Not today.”

“Okay, but do you want this cake? Because I already paid for it and the frosting’s getting weird.”

You slowly get up, brushing off your hoodie. “Where have you been?”

She shrugs, wandering toward your kitchen uninvited. “Time loops, pirate arc, brief stint as a game show host in another dimension. You know, the usual.”

You just stare as she opens your cabinet and starts pulling out mismatched plates.

She talks while she works. “I was gonna show up with a laser light show and an actual mariachi band, but I figured maybe that was a bit much for a Wednesday.”

“It’s Monday.”

“See? This is why I need a handler.”

She plops the cake on your table with a flourish. “Okay but seriously. I missed you.”