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Wally was, decidedly, very happy. He'd taken his time to think about it. A long, long time, but that's how he was.
When Poppy had told him she used to be a boy, he'd been really happy. He'd never met anyone like him. Well, not exactly like him. People had always assumed Wally was a girl, before he'd gotten better at wearing baggy cardigans.
And Poppy was comfortable in how she looked, while Wally.. well, he hated his chest. And after a lot of asking, and Poppy insisting she was much too nervous to sew someone up, she finally relented. Today was the day Wally was getting his top surgery.
Now the little puppet was sitting on Poppy's kitchen counter, his swinging legs not even reaching the floor. The hen was in the other room, searching for her sewing kit. Wally was wearing his favourite cardigan, dark blue and yellow. It was his favourite, so he wore it every day. He rubbed a corner of the fabric between his index finger and thumb.
"Wally, dear? I've found the sewing equipment."
He looked up. There was a quiet click of plastic against marble as Poppy set down the cookie tin. Wally had learned that, paradoxically, cookie tins in the bird's house never had actual cookies in them. Always needle and thread, and the occasional thimble. She lifted the lid, letting Wally lean over to look inside.
"You'll have to pick out what colour thread you'd like. I have red, green and blue. Although I'm sure I could dig up some others from my cupboard if you needed me to..." While she chittered along, Wally thought. Blue was the colour of his hair and favourite cardigan. That would be nice... red and green were both colours that apples could be (although they could be yellow too!), and Wally really liked apples.
He eventually decided that green wouldn't really suit him. So it was between red and blue. Hmm..
"...but I don't want to swamp you with too many options!" Poppy continued, voice wavering anxiously, even though there was nothing to be afraid of. Wally's gaze remained fixed on the string.
"Red, I think." He said in his quiet, monotone way.
"Right! And is there any particular stitch you'd like me to do?" She asked as she held the red thread up to the eye of the needle. The end of the string frayed, but after a few tries, she managed to pull it through.
"Just a running stitch." Wally paused. "Please."
Poppy beamed, producing a tiny pair of scissors. "Ah, this is going to hurt. Are you ready?" Wally didn't think of himself as someone who could read emotions well, but with Poppy's trembling it almost seemed like she was more nervous than him. He patted her on the wing, then went to take off his cardigan and shirt.
"I'm ready, Poppy."
She said it'd hurt, but the sensation of his felt being snipped open was... distant. But that made sense, because Wally never really felt anything right. He never felt hungry like his friends did unless it had been hours and hours–and even then it was never like they described. When Barnaby said it was cold, Wally never felt anything. And when he'd scrape his knee or bump his head, or when he'd cramp up from sitting too long while painting, he didn't really feel it. He was aware it was happening, of course. But it was just another sensation, not bad enough that he'd actively avoid it.
White stuffing poked out of the new gashes in his yellow felt. "I'll have to take that out." Poppy murmured. Wally wondered what that would feel like. The thought of someone's limbs in his body was not appealing. Maybe then he would finally feel pain.
She pulled a little of the white fluff out. Nothing. Wally couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. Why? He didn't think he wanted to be hurt. Maybe he just wanted to feel what all his friends felt.
"I must say, you're dealing exceptionally well with this, Wally. You haven't flinched once!"
Well, at least Poppy was proud of him. He watched her set aside the exess stuffing and take hold of the needle.
"Thank you for doing this for me, Poppy."
"Oh?" The hen stopped, halfway through piercing his felt with the needle. "Well, it's no problem, dear." She smiled, passing the needle through and doing the first stitch.
Wally shut his eyes, letting her finish the job.
"Aaaand.. There!" Poppy snipped off the last of the thread. "You can open your eyes, Wally. You're all done."
He stared down at his (now flat) chest. It was everything he'd hoped for. But still different. He would need time to get used to this, but he was happy Poppy had done this for him. He put on his shirt, tied his ascot and buttoned up his cardigan. He pushed himself off the counter, sliding his black and white shoes onto the floor. The little puppet faced Poppy, stuck out his arms in front of him and wrapped them around her as best he could.
"Oh! Thank you, dear." She hugged him back.