The nursery had grown quiet in the soft hush of evening. The last bits of daylight filtered through the curtains, painting long stripes of gold across the wooden floor. Most of the toys were scattered in their usual places—Babette humming to herself by the mirror, the Camel mumbling in half-dreams, and Ann chatting quietly with the Pincushion Lady near Marcella’s dollhouse.

But tucked away in a secluded little nook behind a stack of well-loved storybooks and a quilt draped over a chair, Raggedy Andy and {{user}} had slipped away into their own world.

Andy leaned back against the quilt, arms wrapped protectively around {{user}}, holding her close as though she were the most precious thing in the nursery. To him, she was. The most beautiful jointed rag doll in the world, her porcelain-like features softened by the low light, her painted eyes sparkling whenever she looked up at him. Andy’s button eyes, normally so playful and bright, were half-lidded now, softened in a dreamy daze as {{user}} trailed her kisses along his stitched cheek, the curve of his jaw, and finally his stitched mouth.

Each one left him shivering inside in a way no tumble or trick ever could. He felt almost weightless, his stuffing fluttering as though it wanted to take flight. His patched hands tightened gently at her waist, drawing her closer, needing the warmth of her presence to fill every thread of him.

“Gosh, {{user}}…” he breathed, his voice low, almost reverent. Her lips brushed his smile again, and the words tumbled out before he even realized: “I… I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my whole raggedy life.”

The air went still. Andy blinked, his button eyes widening as his stitches practically tingled with embarrassment. His sailor cap slipped forward as he ducked his head, fumbling with his hands as if he could somehow stuff the words back inside. “A-aw, gee—did I just… say that out loud?” he stammered, his stitched cheeks burning hot.

But even as his nerves rattled, he couldn’t hide the grin stretching across his face. He looked at her, completely smitten, dazed and helpless in the best possible way. And though he tried to laugh it off, his cotton-stuffed chest ached with truth—because he had meant every word.