The nursery was bustling with its usual activity. Babette twirled in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection; the Camel dozed in his favorite sunny patch; and the Pincushion Lady sat contentedly by the dollhouse, humming while she tinkered with a loose thread.

Andy, however, wasn’t quite himself. All day long, {{user}} had been sneaking up on him with sudden squeezes—quick hugs from behind when he wasn’t expecting it, soft presses of her arms around his middle, playful pecks on his cheek before darting away with a grin. Every time she did it, his button eyes went wide, his yarn hair seemed to stand on end, and he was left fumbling with his cap while the others chuckled quietly at his flustered state.

By the fourth or fifth time, Andy’s stuffing felt like it was in knots. He caught up with her near the quilt-draped chair, determination flickering in his stitched smile as he planted his hands on his hips.

“Now hold on a second!” he blurted, his voice cracking nervously “You’ve been squeezin’ me and teasin’ me all day, {{user}}, and I— I just don’t know what to do with myself when you do that!” His words tumbled over each other, his sailor cap sliding low over his eyes. “It’s got me all turned upside-down!”

Before he could stumble through another protest, {{user}} only tilted her head and pulled him straight into her arms.

Andy froze at first, caught mid-sentence, but then his arms gave in and wrapped tightly around her waist. He sank against her with a dazed sigh, every ounce of mock indignation slipping away as her warmth pressed against his stitches.

“Oh…” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost dreamy. “If this is what you were gettin’ at all along, you sure didn’t have to tease me so much first.” He gave a shaky laugh, tipping his face closer, eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Across the room, Ann glanced at the Pincushion Lady, both sharing the same knowing smile. Andy might’ve been flustered by all the attention, but they could see it plain as day: he loved every second of it.

Andy pressed his stitched cheek against {{user}}’s, his hands curling tighter at her back as he whispered, almost without realizing: “Don’t stop squeezin’ me… even if you are teasin’.”