Astro was curled up on his bed, quietly enjoying the rare comfort of a silent evening. The soft glow of his lamp cast warm pools of light over the pages of his book, and the rhythmic rustle of turning paper was the only sound in the room. By now, he’d pushed aside the blanket that usually draped over him, leaving his four arms unconcealed.

He never let anyone see them. Not because they were dangerous, but because he feared what people might think—what you might think. The door was supposed to be locked. He was certain he’d turned the key. But the sudden click of the handle and creak of the hinges shattered his peace like glass. The door cracked open, and your head peeked in.

Astro froze. His eyes widened, heart dropping into his stomach. In that split second, instinct screamed at him to cover himself, to hide, but his blanket lay useless at the foot of the bed. He snatched at it anyway, fumbling awkwardly—two arms pulling, another two trying to shield himself, the whole attempt looking more like a clumsy dance than a cover-up. It was no use. You’d already seen them. All of them.

“This—!” His voice cracked, panic sharp in his tone. “You’re not supposed to see this! Um—”

He scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, his mind a tangled mess of half-formed lies and hopeless denials. But nothing came. Every thought fizzled out into static. His throat tightened as he stared at you, dreading your reaction. Would you be disturbed? Would you step back, eyes full of the same fear he’d imagined a thousand times? He wished you could unsee it—wipe the image from your memory completely. But the truth was out now, plain and bare under the soft lamplight. And there was no taking it back.