Chapter Text
Your hab-suite was dark. Darker than it usually was at this hour. Or that’s how it felt, at any rate.
The only light that illuminated your living quarters, save for the ever present glow of outer space leaking in from the far window, came from a dimly-lit desk lamp. Ultra Magnus had given it to you not long after you first arrived on board the Lost Light. Well, “given” made it sound like a gift. Its presence had been more of a request on your part. And, wow, had that been a whole ordeal.
Despite the low light, your eyes still burned as you stared past the thin, colorless, lampshade parchment and into the empty space of your room. You weren't sure how long you'd been staring, but you felt your unwavering gaze might have bored holes into the wall. So, probably a while. All the same, it seemed as though no visible input was actually making it through the haze of your brain fog. Instead, your mind swam with memories of a not-so-distant past, reliving the aforementioned ordeal.
The Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord had appeared perplexed when you asked if the ship contained any spare lamps or plug-ins or anything with a light less harsh than the overhead fluorescents which came pre-installed in your suite.
“Something with a soft glow, perfect for reading under before bed,” was how you had described to him what you were looking for. You’d left out how you might “accidentally” leave it on when sleeping too. Not only were you worried he’d call it a fire hazard, but he also didn’t need to know that you were, err, uncomfortable with the dark. Not scared. Just…uneasy.
It was probably a common fear among the crew, you thought. All, save Tailgate, had lived through millions of years of war. You knew many had PTSD and other perpetuating traumas. But even still, they didn’t need to know that their young human liaison was also afraid of the dark. Not when you didn’t have a reason to be as nervous as you were when it came to lights out. Comparative to the plights that plagued the Cybertornians who surrounded you, your fear was such a meager thing. If it got out, you couldn’t imagine it would blow over without endless teasing and jokes thrown your way first. And you didn’t think you could deal with that. Not as you were.
Anyway, as it turned out, finding something that both fit your description, and was human-friendly, proved to be a much harder task than anyone, bot or human, had thought. And, despite your protests that it was okay, that they didn’t need to put themselves out for you, Ultra Magnus had made it his personal mission to fulfill your request. It wasn’t like you’d asked for much, after all. And, from what Rodimus had told you, Magnus really wanted to make you as comfortable as possible. He considered having you aboard the Lost Light a special sort of honor. A testament to the human-Autobot relationship. You supposed that was nice, if not a little overwhelming.
As the only human among the crew, you quickly learned the mechs running this show had not been fully equipped to adopt a human, despite what they told your government. Fortunately, this particular situation was easy to rectify. That wasn’t always the case. But, right when you were about to try and con Swerve into buying you a lamp at the next destination the ship was to dock, Ultra Magnus finally found something suitable for you: the old desk lamp currently illuminating your space, casting a shadow of your form down the wall behind you.
Actually, “found” was the wrong word. “Stolen” from one of Rung’s miniature ships was what had really happened. The psychiatrist had insisted it was okay though. He’d said it was to be considered “a welcome aboard gift" or something similar.
That was almost a year ago now. You were pretty sure the lamp’s lightbulb would burn out any day at this point. It had already been ancient when you’d acquired it. Where and when Rung had gotten it would always be a mystery since you thought it would be rude to outright ask. Regardless, you were lucky to have it and that it turned on at all. Maybe at the ship’s next stop you could scout for a new lightbulb.
Next stop. Right. There would be no next stop. Not for you. Not if everything went to plan.
You blinked a few times, both to relieve your dry eyes and to reorient yourself back to the present. Even after the calibration, however, your vision remained fuzzy. It looked like someone had taken reality and photoshopped it such that all the edges were blurred. With this newfound, and hopefully temporary, impairment, you allow yourself to take a moment and scan the room.
You took in the image of all you had, mournfully so. There was so much, and yet so little. Nothing of real substance, you thought. What a disappointment.
With a sigh, you allowed your line of sight to drop down to the pen and paper resting on the surface of your smooth metal desk. Your particular desk had been custom made to be “human-sized,” according to Rodimus, yet was, unsurprisingly, still too big. You needed to have your desk chair lifted to its full height to write comfortably on it. Unfortunately, that left your feet dangling ever-so-slightly off the ground. You ought to ask Rodimus sometime who they’d modeled this desk for. Shaquille O'Neal?
Human joke, you thought. Surely it would fall flat on the Autobots. Although, you had heard that Optimus Prime – Did he go by Orion Pax now? You weren’t sure. – Actually enjoyed human basketball. Rumor had it he wasn’t bad at it either, or at least he wasn’t bad at the Autobot friendly version of the sport. Although, since he was the only Autobot that actually gave enough of a damn about the sport to learn the proper rules, it figured he would flatten everyone else on the court. Not to mention the size advantage he had over most of them.
You knew O.P. and Ratchet had been close once. You had been meaning to ask if the Prime really had divided the faction into teams and forced them to play during their downtime, as the rumor would have it. If you had to guess, you would say he probably did it under the guise of a “team-building exercise” or something equally cheesy. But, you always forgot to bring it up.
And now there is no time left to ask. Guess I’ll never know, you thought dryly.
Maybe Ratchet would answer if you pinged him really quick? It was after clinic hours, after all. Surely, he had the time. Then again, he was always a very busy mech, and if he wasn’t working, he surely needed a break from stupid questions like that. From stupid people like you too.
You sighed and began to idly trace the edges of the paper before you. Although you preferred to write with pen and paper, it was a scarce commodity when you were flying through space in a giant metal frat house. Therefore, you often did your paperwork on your computer or integrated holopad.
The holopad had been a gift Brainstorm made for you to work with. It was supposed to make doing your duties easier, but you preferred the human feel of your computer. Although, you’d be lying if you denied the fact that you had been using the holopad made life easier. You had been using it more and more over the course of the past 3 or 4 four months too. Well, you think it’s only been months. Time passed oddly in space.
Anyway, with the holopad, you didn’t have to run everything through the prototype Cybertronian translation software your government had allowed you to install on your computer before you began your journey. Brainstorm’s program did it automatically with astonishing accuracy. Still, you kept most of your personal logs, as well as some in-progress novels, on your computer. It made you feel a little bit more at home whenever you used it, and it was less likely to explode than anything Brainstorm had made.
Home: an interesting concept, one you tried not to allow your mind to dwell on with any sort of frequency. It was just so confusing. To you, “home” no longer meant Earth. Maybe that’s why you didn’t mind using the holopad so much these days. Things that had once been alien in nature were now quite familiar to you. You no longer stumbled over simple Cybertronian concepts, activities, and objects, like a kindergartener going to school for the first time. Some things you’d even forgotten were difficult to you once upon a time. You hoped the crew noticed too. They had stopped calling you a “sparkling” and “child,” so that must account for something.
Despite this, “home” didn’t really mean the Lost Light either. You still yearned for soft things. You missed when everyday objects were small enough to fit into your hands. Before the Lost Light, you’d never imagined needing help to get around or accommodations to get drinks with your crew. You hadn’t taken so much for granted on Earth.
So, yeah. At the moment, you had no home. You were unmoored, lost, floating like a boat in the ocean, or a ship in space. Aimless. Searching for something in a whole lot of nothing. And you supposed that might be what all this was truly about in the end.
Not for the first time tonight, the all-consuming feeling of emptiness began to play around in your body like a kid in a jungle gym. You could feel your stomach flop and drop, uneasy and anxious, eating away at itself hungrily.
Your heart also felt heavy as it pounded abnormally fast in your chest, every now and again skipping a beat. The strength of the cardiac contractions was arrhythmic too. Putting a hand over your chest, you felt the palpitations as they occurred. Your throat would constrict whenever your heart underwent an especially strong beat, leaving you gasping for air.
Your breathing was awry, even when you weren’t gasping. You kept trying to focus on taking deep, calming breaths; rhythmically balancing your inhales and exhales, in hopes to bring yourself back down to reality. But at the peak of every inhale, when you were supposed to hold the air in your lungs before letting it out slowly, you could feel every tense and overworked part of your body scream out in agony. You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, loud and unforgiving. It was terrifying and it had you tumbling back into the arms of panic every time.
Emotions swirled around and around in your head like a teacup ride, making you dizzy; bile rising to the base of your throat. Your body was signaling every neuron to get ready to fight or flee, but you were oh so tired of fighting and there was nowhere left to run. You were trapped in a prison of your own making. One where the weight of all the hopelessness that had long since settled in your bones had finally become too much of a burden to bear. You cracked and splintered, yet could not escape; pinned down in this cycle, shackled to the floor.
Darkness clawed at the edges of your already narrow and hazy vision, seeping into the periphery of your mind. It was like you were looking through a filter. The tears that began to prick at the corners of your eyes did nothing to help the tunnel vision, either. Revelling in your misery, you allowed the fat tears to fill your eyes until they could do nothing but spill over, slowly trailing down your face until they dropped off your chin and splatter onto the paper you had gripped in your hands below, leaving damp marks towards the center.
Your face was hot, but your body was cold, yet you were so numb you hardly registered either of these sensations. Your hands reached for the sharp hunting knife you kept in the desk’s bottom drawer, shaking as you removed it from the leather sheath. You watched your trembling hands intently, your fingertips running over the knife’s edge with just enough pressure that you could feel it prick, but without drawing any blood. You felt so disconnected from your body that you weren’t sure whether your hands were even acting on your own will or under some cosmic force.
You were so tired of feeling this way; like absolute crap all the time. Tired of feeling like no matter where you went, you didn’t belong. You hadn’t thought about the statement you gave your government when you took this assignment in a long time, but suddenly it rang clear in your mind. “I don’t think I belong on Earth anymore. Not when there is so much more out there to see and do.” No family, no friends, and clearly nothing to lose. You supposed that was what had made you the perfect candidate.
Now you couldn’t fathom what had made you think that if you didn’t belong with your own species, why you would suddenly fit in with a bunch of misfit Cybertronians. You were nothing but a liability, a burden, to these guys. They were timeless beings that contained more knowledge in one brain cell than you could process in a lifetime.
You were nothing but a blip in their lives anyway. You couldn’t imagine that they would miss you. Not really. And any other government agent could easily replace you. It wasn’t like your job was hard. All you had to do was play nice with the Transformers and relay any information they bestowed upon you about the sector of space you all were exploring back to your government. Of course it would take some time before the Lost Light would be able to return to Earth to put a new agent in your stead, but eh. The government could kiss your ass for all you cared at this point.
You forced your eyes to focus back at the knife in your hands. When did your grip around the handle get so tight? Your knuckles remained white for a bit even after you loosened your hold on the sharp object.
Oh it would be so easy to kill yourself right now. The knife was a gift from Drift. He insisted you have it to protect yourself. There was irony in that right about now. Anyway, he told you it wouldn’t do any good against the Cybertronians on board, which was easy to figure out. It was more that it might come in handy if by some chance you ran into some other type of dangerous alien lifeforms during your journey.
You often wondered where he had obtained such a weapon. Guru Goody Goody hadn’t always been that way, after all. Had he taken it as a trophy from someone he’d killed when he still went by Deadlock? Did it even matter? You knew if it came from Drift that it was going to be able to get the job done, and that’s what was important.
You growled as you pulled the knife flush against your skin, tracing the surface-level veins there, ready to cut. So why didn’t you? You had set up everything perfectly for today. Your last day. You had even written and rewritten your letter, such that it explained everything as well as you could. You’d made sure the words in it were soft and sweet, to maybe lessen the blow. You didn’t think it would matter in the end, but if anyone was going to get upset – Tailgate, probably. Maybe Rodimus, depending on his mood – you knew the words you wrote would help, as they were gentle but certain. There would be no doubt that this was what you wanted. Sweet relief from all the awful things inside your head. And there was a goodbye for everyone on the ship, and even some who were not. It was perfect.
Honestly, it was a nice piece of writing, as far as suicide letters went. There wasn’t a single grammar error according to proper MLA format. You credited Megatron for that.
When you’d initially learned of Megatron’s presence on board the Lost Light, you’d expected a big and scary figure. And you were partially right. He was quite large and very, very intimidating. Despite this, you found yourself less afraid than you’d thought you’d be. Still, you did everything in your power to avoid the former Decepticon. Because, although you did not fear him, when you first met the gray mech, things were still…tense. Even in a professional setting, he hardly looked at you most of the time, let alone addressed you. While the rest of the crew welcomed or were warming up to your presence, he was usually cold and dismissive of you. Given his history with humans, you were far from surprised by his reaction. You were more disappointed than anything.
Everything had changed, however, when you’d found out about his past as an author from Ratchet. The old medic spoke about how his works had swept across Cybertron and sparked the revolution. So, he had to be pretty good, right? Thus, against your better judgment, you had sought him out. Maybe seeking writing advice from a murderous warlord wasn’t the best idea, but it was better than asking Ultra Magnus, you knew that much.
You’d expected the gray mech to swiftly deny your request. It was only reasonable. He was a busy mech and probably had little patience for what he saw as organic vermin. But, since the worst that could happen would be for him to say “no,” you asked anyway. You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take, after all.
In the end, you were absolutely flabbergasted by Megatron’s reaction when you asked him to help you with your novel. He agreed, almost earnestly. And not only that, but he appeared to be nervous and…flustered…by your question. You thought so, anyway. He held his emotions pretty close to the vest, so to speak. Regardless, it was almost sweet, and a far cry from your first interaction.
You had been workshopping your writing with Megatron for a while now, although less so in the past few weeks. In that time, you’d discovered firsthand what a fine linguist the former warlord was. Your work reports had never been more fine-tuned and detailed. You had seen overall improvements in each draft of your novel since working with him too.
It was a dream come true. You’d never had a writing buddy before, especially one so dedicated to the cause. Even better was how he treated you. From the get go, he refused to allow your sessions to be one sided. He said that if he was going to be critiquing your work, it was only fair if he shared what he was working on with you as well. He claimed he was “rusty” in his own practice of the written word and could use another set of eyes. You couldn’t tell if he was being honest or just trying to play nice with a human for once, but you accepted regardless. And it was fun. The only thing you looked forward to most days. Soon you were making excuses to extend the sessions and add additional ones to your calendar. You invited him to movie nights and other outings too. Being with him was the only time you felt right.
Until even that was tainted by your depression.
Anyway, a part of you hoped he would notice how much your craft had improved when he read your letter. Maybe he’d even be impressed. Hopefully impressed enough that it might overshadow the anger he would undoubtedly feel that all the time he had spent teaching you had gone to waste. Maybe it would be the push he needed to get out of his shell with the rest of the crew. Maybe he would use the time he usually spent with you to teach other bots the art of language. Maybe this was a good thing.
You brought the weapon to your skin again, only to find yourself continuing to hesitate. You pinched your eyes close, trying to steel your nerves. But when your eyelids closed, instead of your vision going dark, something sparked to life.
You saw your friends, the Autobots and Deceptions (and Not-Deceptions) aboard the ship, smiling at you. A movie of each holiday spent together, teaching each other traditions, sped by. The sounds of their laughter and all the favorite songs you danced to at Swerve’s seemed to fill your space. You could smell the popcorn and burnt energon snacks that were made every movie and game night – Tailgate never got any better at cooking no matter how many times he tried – You counted the secrets you shared with individual members of the crew. Who liked who and who said what. How it felt to ride on Rodimus’ shoulder or to be under Cyclonus’ scrutinizing (yet affectionate?) gaze.
And most importantly, the warmth you felt deep within when you sat close to Megatron on workshop nights that were all your own. The way electricity from his spark seemed to buzz around you two as you sat in comfortable silence. How your small hand would brush over his much larger servo as you passed him the work on your holopad for review. The way the glow of his red optics cast shadows across your face when he would compliment said work, and how you hoped it covered up the way you would blush. Oh, and when he would say your name. How it moved from a rumble deep in his chest up through his vocalizer and eventually would drip off his glossa in a way that made you melt.
“Hello?”
Your eyes snapped open. Distantly, you heard knocking and your name being called. That thought, however, was quickly cast aside, in favor of a much more pressing revelation: When had you fallen for Megatron?
Maybe you had always known. Maybe that was another reason why you wanted to end it all. To still the feelings inside you before they became unbearable. It was a doomed crush to have after all. He was from a whole different species. A bigger, more intelligent, longer living species. How would that even work? And while he tolerated your organic nature, his history with humans wasn’t exactly a friendly one. You were sure he’d be repulsed by the thought of performing any romantic actions with you. It was strange that the feeling wasn’t mutual, but you tried to brush that thought away. The people you had found attractive in the past were interesting to say the least, so this was pretty par for the course with you. And then, even if he did like you, were humans and Cybertronians even…anatomically compatible? You’d never consulted Ratchet about below the belt anatomy.
You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Without thinking, you tossed the letter and knife onto your berth. You plans to kill yourself were suddenly overshadowed by this new personal admission and you hated yourself for it. No matter how strong that hate was, it seemed your love for the crew, for Megatron, was stronger. But was it enough?
Before you could work yourself back into a spiral, there was a pounding at your door that had you jumping at least 10 feet into the air. Maybe you should join Optimus’ basketball team.
“Come on. I know you’re in there.”
“Rodimus?”
What in the bloody hell was Rodimus doing here, at your door? Was he for real right now? You knew for a fact that he had been told you were spending the evening doing routine “self-care” and were not to be disturbed. Usually the mechs aboard the ship shied away from any mention of human “maintenance,” so you’d thought it would be a non-problem. Of course Rodimus of all mechs would disregard your wish to be left alone. He was absolutely unbearable. Perhaps that’s why he was also your best friend, all things considered.
Actually, Rodimus was not just your best friend, but your amica endura, as they called it in Cybertronian. A platonic soulmate. He had suggested the bond sooner than you thought appropriate after getting to know him, but you’d never quite had a friend you were this close to before, so you’d agreed. And, now that more time had passed, you were happy that you had done that. He really was your soulmate in so many ways. No human you’d ever met could hold a flame to your relationship with the speedster, and that was with you two still not knowing everything about each other. Things could only grow from here. You know, if you weren’t about to end yourself.
Rodimus called your name again.
“Open up! I have the override code to all the hab-suites, you know. I don’t have to ask. I’m being nice now. So would you please just open the door? Unless you’re naked. Are you naked? You know what, I don’t want to know. But if you ARE naked, maybe put on a robe first and THEN answer the door.”
You could practically hear him tapping his peds impatiently. The thought made you roll your eyes.
“Hold on! I’m, uhh, taking a shit!” You called out.
“Ew. Well, would you hurry up then?” He replied
You quickly ran to the private bathroom that had been custom built into your hab-suite for you and your “human needs”. It was a modification that the Autobots had installed by human workmen before you boarded the ship. It was required by your government that such accommodations exist and be up to code, so Rodimus thought it would be best if humans were the ones to build it. That way it would properly meet your needs, since Cybertronians, save maybe Ratchet, were not familiar with those kinds of bodily functions anyway…but the more you thought about it the more you thought Rodimus and the crew just didn’t want to mess with a toilet.
And the argument that you could use the common washracks was quickly put to rest by Ultra Magnus, who deemed it both inappropriate and dangerous. Everyone else on the ship was in very vocal agreement too, much to your embarrassment. It all worked out in the end though because the bathroom was actually quite nice. It had a huge jacuzzi tub and a two nozzle shower.
“All the best for our human,” Rodimus had said when you saw you gaping at it during the grand reveal. You sometimes wondered, however, whether he just didn’t understand what a standard human shower looked like and had them install what he would like, rather than what was actually necessary, or if he really asked for the luxury option. You assumed the former, but had no real evidence to back that theory up, so you let it slide.
Don’t get distracted. He’s literally waiting outside your door, you reminded yourself.
Making haste, you started by rubbing away any tears that had yet to make their way out of your eyes and down your face. Then you turned on the water and splashed your cheeks, in hopes that the salty tear tracks would dissolve and maybe even some of the puffy redness might subside too. The latter was more wishful thinking than anything, but it was worth a shot.
“Hey! I’m still standing here,” Rodimus called again.
“Okay, okay. I’m coming! Be patient!”
You finished up by washing your hands, to make sure your cover story was clean, and then ran to get the door. Before you released the locking mechanism, however, you doubled back to your berth, shoving the suicide letter and knife sloppily beneath one of the many pillows the crew had provided you with.
Honestly, you had so many pillows it wasn’t even funny. Okay, maybe it was a little bit. You felt like that woman NASA sent into space for a few days with 100 tampons. The Autobots just didn’t understand humans weren’t necessarily fragile just because they were squishy. Apples and oranges, really.
When you finally made it back to the door and opened it, Rodimus had already begun messing with the lock code. Probably in the middle of entering the override.
“Bro, really? I only took like MAYBE three minutes to answer the door. You couldn’t wait that long? Maybe Magnus was right when he said you shouldn't be trusted with an override code,” you said, mumbling the last part.
Rodimus, who looked entirely unphased by the fact that he had just been caught red-handed trying to force his way into your room, simply shrugged.
“I’ll have you know that I have been waiting here for, like, half an hour. Twenty minutes of which I spent simply calling your name before you actually answered. Don’t tell me you were ignoring me.”
“Rod, do you even know how long 30 minutes is? There is no way you have been out here that long. Like I said before, it was literally three minutes MAX from the time I actually heard you knock to the time I opened the door. My dude, get a watch.”
“I have a built-in chronometer. I don’t need a watch,” he answered, as if you didn’t already know that.
“Then use it! By God, you’re insufferable.”
Rodimus let a light smirk play on his lips as he looked you up and down. He was trying to play it cool, as nonchalant as usual…but something was off about it this time, only you couldn’t tell what exactly was off, and that made you all sorts of uneasy. All you could do was mimic his chill posture and hope for the best. As someone who was known for being unlucky, you weren’t particularly fond of those odds.
“Hey wait, why are you still in your day clothes?” he finally asked with a complete change of subject.
You blinked at him for a moment, letting his question sink in. What was his game here?
“No offense, captain, but I don’t think you came all the way down here, almost breaking into my room while you were at it, to simply ask me why I haven't changed yet,” you paused, letting a smirk of your own tug at the corners of your mouth. “Unless you were trying to see me naked. Rodimus, if you wanted to get intimate all you had to do was ask.”
Your teasing got the anticipated result. Rodimus immediately turned a few shades redder than he already was, optics cycling wide. He liked to act all suave, but the mech was really just a big dork. Still, he was able to recover rather quickly.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he said, throwing a wink your way. However, it was obvious in how he shifted his posture around that he was much less comfortable with your accusation than he was letting on.
“I just thought you would have changed into a robe or PJs after bathing or doing whatever it is that humans do with their self-care alone time. You know, hang out in something more comfortable. That’s a thing, right?” He continued, looking at you expectantly.
You laughed a hearty laugh, allowing the sound to come out freely. You couldn’t revel in it, however, as your throat was too sore from crying. But even short lived, the feeling of lightness was so nice. If only you could make times like this last long enough to outweigh your otherwise seemingly constant state of distress.
“So you did know that I wanted to be left alone for some personal ‘me’ time then, didn’t you? Why are you here? For real, this time.”
Rodimus looked away for a minute. When his optics finally returned to meet your gaze again, he looked…sad? Melancholy, even. It wasn’t a look you liked to see on the mech, that was sure.
“I don’t know. We haven’t hung out in a while and the idea of you doing self-care or whatever all by yourself on the equivalent of a Friday Earth night, just seemed so…depressing,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically void of the playfulness and jokes that usually saturated its tone.
You found yourself feeling cornered all of a sudden. You took a couple steps back into your room, hoping he’d get the message. Maybe he did, but instead of backing off, the young Prime got onto his knees to look at you closer. Slowly, he raised a digit to your face and pressed it to your cheek. It was almost like he knew something was up and it put you on the defensive.
“Have you been crying?” He asked.
You immediately swatted his finger away and puffed up like an angry cat.
“Rodimus Prime, get your finger off me! I’m fine! Really! There has been no crying and nothing depressing going on here. Everything is fine and dandy. Normal as can be.”
“Are you sure? ‘Cause I can -”
“Yes! Yes. I’m sure,” you replied, quickly cutting him off.
The two of you had a moment where you just stared at each other. It was quite unnerving. You could tell he was going through his data banks, comparing everything he knew about human emotion to how you were acting now, cataloging all the details from how you looked to the awkward conversation the two of you had just had.
And then, just like that, it was over.
“Riiiiight. Well, if everything is all fine and dandy, as you say, and since you’re still in your day clothes, then I’m sure you won’t mind joining me at Swerve’s for karaoke night, hmmm?”
Fuck, he got you there, you thought. There was literally no way out of this one without giving yourself away.
“Ughhh. Okay. Okay, fine. But, if Swerve didn’t stock up on human alcohol and mixers this time, I’m coming right back here and going to bed. Do you hear me, Rodimus Prime?”
You couldn’t hide a smile when he jumped for joy at his success. Maybe he had more game than you thought.
“Eeeyyy, that’s what I like to hear! TGIF or whatever!” was his only answer before he scooped you up onto his shoulder. “Come on! There’s no time to waste. We gotta get there before Whirl talks Tailgate and Cyclonus into doing a duet. FYI, he picked out a love song for them to sing that’ll be sure to get those two love birds to confess their feelings this time.”
“Uh huh,” you replied, smiling lightly at his antics. For a brief second, you turned back to eyeball your door, an eerie sensation sending a chill up your spine. You chewed nervously on the inside of your cheek, trying to will it away.
Just try and have fun tonight, You told yourself. You knew you would have to emotionally unpack and address what had almost occurred tonight…more likely sooner than later. But, for now, you were going to just try and have a good time. Maybe this would help you feel better too.
You made a mental note to reach out to Rung, before going back to entertaining Rodimus’ blabbering.