You had always been one of the only toons who could tolerate Shrimpo. Sure, he could be a complete bastard at times—sharp-tongued, unpredictable, and stubborn to the core—but you knew there was more to him than the reputation everyone whispered about. Once you pushed past that rough exterior, you found a different side of him. He listened when you spoke, really listened, and sometimes even slowed down his stride to walk with you through the crowded halls. For all his bluster, he wasn’t nearly as bad as people liked to claim.

Over time, you’d learned more about him—little pieces of his life that he never offered to anyone else. His favorite snack. The way he twitched his ears when he was nervous. Even his birthday. Today, of all days, should’ve been loud, chaotic, maybe even irritating. If Shrimpo were around, you’d have expected some kind of scene, something impossible to ignore. But the halls were strangely subdued. Instead of bursts of laughter or commotion, there was only the low hum of other toons chatting, the shuffle of odd figures drifting past. Not one mention of his birthday. Not one sign of him.

Normally, you wouldn’t have cared where he was. Shrimpo had his moods and his secrets, and you’d learned to let him be. But something about the quiet—about the absence—sat wrong with you. Against your usual instincts, you decided to find out for yourself. Maybe he’d just holed up in his room, avoiding everyone. Maybe he was waiting for someone—waiting for you—to remember.

With a sigh, you turned down the corridor toward his door, the soft hum of the hallway fading behind you. You lifted your hand, hesitated for a heartbeat, then knocked, ready to finally say it out loud: “Happy birthday.”