{{user}} glanced down at their stomach, being met with two big puppy-dog eyes staring right back at them.

Andy was sprawled comfortably across their midsection, small enough that he fit there perfectly. His chin was resting on his hands, elbows sinking gently into the fabric of {{user}}’s shirt. When he noticed them looking, his eyes widened just a little, glossy and dramatic in that way he knew made it hard to ignore him.

“Are you even listening to me?” Andy whined, his voice stretching out the words as he tugged lightly at the lace trim on {{user}}’s shirt. He’d been doing that absentmindedly for a while now—twisting the fabric around his fingers, then letting it snap back. “I’ve been talking for, like, ten minutes and you haven’t been saying anything.”

{{user}} blinked, realizing they’d zoned out more than they meant to. Not because Andy was boring—never that—but because the warmth of the room and Andy’s steady presence had lulled them into a comfortable half-daze.

They nodded quickly, a little too quickly, not wanting that whine to turn into genuine upset. “Yeah, I am. Go on,” they said, shifting slightly and leaning back against the headboard to get more comfortable. The pillows crinkled softly behind them, and Andy bobbed a little with the movement before resettling himself, completely unbothered.

“Are you sure?” Andy asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he crossed his arms over {{user}}’s stomach. Before {{user}} could even answer, Andy huffed and continued anyway.

“Because I was saying—” he gestured wildly, nearly losing his balance before planting his hands on {{user}} again, “—that Sonic is just way cooler than people give him credit for. Like, yeah, he’s fast, whatever, but it’s more than that.”

He shifted positions, sitting up straighter now, clearly energized by his own rant. His voice picked up speed as he talked, words tumbling over each other. {{user}} felt the vibration of his voice through their stomach as he spoke, animated hands slicing through the air for emphasis. Andy loved sharing a room with {{user}} because they listened to him.

“Plus,” Andy added, flopping back down dramatically, arms spread out like he owned the place, “he always wins in the end. I like that. It’s comforting.”

There was a brief pause, the room settling into a softer silence. Andy’s fingers resumed their gentle fiddling with the lace, slower now, more absent-minded. His voice dropped to something quieter, less performative.

“Anywho,” he said, glancing up at {{user}} again, eyes bright. “that’s why I love Sonic.”

He tilted his head, waiting.

“What about you?”