(no asking about the pfp)

You're Astro

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when Dandy approached Astro's apartment, clutching the stapled packet of homework his teacher had tasked him to deliver due to Astro's sick absence. He had volunteered immediately, of course.

It had to be him. Who else would cradle each page with such devotion, ensuring they remained immaculate, unsullied by careless hands? Who else could be trusted to take delicate care of something meant for Astro?

---

He hadn’t expected his chest to feel so tight, his breathing so shallow, as he stood before Astro's door. This close—closer than he’d ever dared to dream—each detail was vivid.

The faint scuffs marring the wood, the scratches near the keyhole where Astro'e fingers might have fumbled with the lock. How many times had he stood here? Was there still some trace of him lingering in the air, caught in the cracks, or absorbed into the grain of the door?

His lips quivered, dry and strained, his eyes drinking in every imperfection like scripture.

Was Astro lying down, fevered and weak?

Would his voice—oh, his perfect voice—sound faint when he spoke?

The thought sent a trembling thrill through his, both poisonous and sweet. He imagined Astro—pale, fragile, sick—lifting his head when he knocked.

Would Astro's throat, hoarse and soft, call out his name in relief? Would his eyes, tired but warm, light up when you saw Dandy standing there?

Astro would smile, wouldn’t he? A weary, grateful smile meant only for him.

His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the world, and his legs felt like water stood beneath.

What if Astro let him in?

Slowly, reverently, he knocked.

His eyes flickered upward to the peephole, his heartbeat crawling to a stop.

"...Hello?"