Once there was a rich little boy named Quatre. Such a sweet child he was, with fluffy blond hair and big blue eyes! He had all kinds of toys, everything any child could want, but his very favorite toy was a doll named Trowa. It had brown yarn hair that flopped over half its face, and green button eyes, and a serious little embroidered mouth. It wore a little blue velveteen turtleneck, and velveteen trousers that could come off and go on again. Everywhere Quatre went, he carried the velveteen Trowa with him. He didn't care if the other boys looked up from fooling with their mecha models and called him a sissy girly and wouldn't play with him. He wasn't lonely, because he could have pretend conversations with the velveteen Trowa all day long.

"How are you today, Quatre?" it would seem to ask.

"Fine, thank you, and how are you?" Quatre would answer.

"Oh, quite fine, except maybe you could ask someone to sew my eye on a little tighter. It seems to be coming loose."

"Of course, dear velveteen Trowa. Shall we have a bath together tonight?"

"If you like, Quatre. But I heard your sister say that if I go in the bath anymore, my stuffing will get moldy."

"How icky! Poor Trowa! Well then, you can sit on the edge of the tub and keep me company."

"I'd like that, dear Quatre."

And so on.

One day, little Quatre grew very sick. The best doctors were called in, but they all shook their heads and told his family to brace themselves for the worst. Quatre lay pale and still in his bed, his eyes shut and his arms wrapped tight around the velveteen Trowa. The velveteen felt soft against his feverish cheek.

Some long, terrible days passed, and then little Quatre began to get better. Everyone said it was a miracle. Soon he could even sit up and sip a little tea from a china cup. He shared his tea with the velveteen Trowa. The velveteen Trowa drank a lot of tea; that's why it had a funny stain around its serious little mouth.

Quatre's father came into the room wearing a mask over his nose and mouth.

"Quatre," he said firmly, "I have to tell you something that you won't like to hear. You've been very sick, you know. We don't want anyone else catching the germs."

Quatre nodded his blond head solemnly, clutching the velveteen Trowa.

"So everything in the nursery has to be burned."

"Burned...?" asked little Quatre, wide-eyed.

"Yes, it all has to go. Your sheets and towels and clothes. All your little sailor suits."

Quatre nodded bravely.

"Your roller skates and tea set."

"How can you burn things like that?" asked Quatre in a small voice.

"Never mind how," said his father. "We have nuclear facilities that can melt anything."

"Oh."

"Your school books and paper dolls..."

Quatre blanched, but nodded in resignation.

His father took a deep breath.

"And your velveteen Trowa."

"But... but..." He held the velveteen Trowa close in both arms, tears welling up.

"No buts. Be a man. We'll buy you another dolly."

"I don't want another dolly," sobbed Quatre.

Servants in protective space suits bustled in. They stripped the room bare. One of them plucked the velveteen Trowa out of Quatre's arms with a pair of tongs and popped it into a bag labeled "hazardous waste." Quatre was left weeping into his little hands.

Everything was burned.

But what do you think? There, in the flames, a good fairy appeared. She gathered up the ashes of the velveteen Trowa and took them home and spread them out on her kitchen counter, where she did some special magic over them. For she knew that when toys were loved very much, they could become real. And when a toy was loved as much as the velveteen Trowa, it didn't take much magic at all. She sprinkled a bit of fairy dust over the ashes, and suddenly there was a real live Trowa sitting perched on her counter!

He looked just like the velveteen Trowa, except that his hair wasn't brown yarn, it was real hair, and his eyes weren't green buttons, they were real eyes, and his serious little mouth could really open and close for talking and drinking tea. And he was big, as big as a real boy. He thanked the good fairy, and hurried out into the wide world to find his dear Quatre.

It took him many long years of searching. So when he finally found Quatre, the boy was almost grown up. But Trowa recognized him right away. He still had the same fluffy blond hair and big blue eyes. Trowa was a little afraid. What if Quatre was too grown up to want to play with him anymore?

It was a beautiful morning. Quatre was coming out of his boarding school dormitory, dressed in a suit with a bowtie and suspenders and frilly sleeves that was the school uniform. He looked up and saw a handsome boy standing under a tree gazing at him, and his textbooks dropped unheeded to the sidewalk, even though he was usually very careful with his things. The boy looked just like his dear velveteen Trowa. He hurried over to him.

"Velveteen Trowa, is it really you?" asked Quatre hopefully.

"Yes, it's me, Trowa. I've become real because you loved me so much. Oh, Quatre, you don't know how much I've missed you!"

Quatre was overjoyed.

"Trowa! Dear Trowa! I missed you so much too! I'm so sorry you had to be burned up to ashes."

"Oh, that was a long time ago, don't worry about it," Trowa reassured him.

Quatre skipped class that day, although he was usually a very diligent student. He took Trowa to a romantic little tea shop, where they had tea and cookies.

"Your mouth really opens," marveled Quatre.

"You remember all those times you used to kiss me goodnight?"

Quatre nodded, blushing for some reason.

"Well, now I can kiss you back," said Trowa, and did so. The customers and waiters pretended to ignore them at first, but the kiss went on and on, and Quatre's chair tipped over backwards, spilling both of them on the floor, and everyone was staring by this time. The store proprietor tossed an open newspaper over them, lest they excite anyone with a weak heart. Finally Trowa let Quatre up. The blond boy tried to catch his breath, cheeks pink and eyes sparkling.

"Do your clothes still come off and go back on?" asked Quatre curiously.

"Take me back to your room and find out," suggested Trowa.

"And can you take a bath with me now without your stuffing getting spoiled?"

"Put me in the bath and see."

"Do your eyes still get loose and have to be sewn back on?"

"Ah, no, let's not be sewing my eyes anymore please."

So Quatre took Trowa's hand and led him back to his room, and found out that Trowa's skin was softer than any velveteen, and from that day on he took him everywhere with him and couldn't sleep without him, just like when he had been little and Trowa had been velveteen. And they both lived happily ever after.