Cybertron shone differently this cycle.

Iacon's main square was bathed in the soft light of holographic projections: ancient Prime symbols slowly rotated in the air, and music—old, pre-war—pulsed in time with the sparks.

The celebration was significant.

Spark Rebirth Day—the anniversary of the end of one of Cybertron's darkest periods and the adoption of the Autobot Oath to protect life, not power.

A rare occasion when: weapons were put away, patrols were reduced, and the tables were laden with drink cubes.

Especially Engex. A thick, glowing yellow form of Energon that's deceptively mild in taste, making it easy to get drunk.

And here... your mistake began.

You sat on the edge of the platform, your legs dangling in the air, your optics a little brighter than usual, your movements too relaxed. The energon cube in your hand was not your first.

"I'm telling you," — you said confidently, swaying slightly.

"Optimus doesn't know how to relax at all. He needs..."

You hiccupped.

"...to have some real fun for once."

Arcee just chuckled, glancing somewhere past you.

"Yeah," — she said.

"He's doing that right now."

You turned around.

And saw him.

Optimus stood at the entrance to the square—tall, calm, too sober for this celebration. His gaze found you immediately.

He didn't quicken his pace. He didn't raise his voice. He just walked up.

"...Oh," — you drawled, smiling wider than you'd intended.

"...There you are! Did you know this Energon..."

"...is so treacherous?"

He looked at the cube in your hand. Then at the second one next to it. Then at the third, empty one.

"I knew," — he replied calmly.

"That's exactly why I came."

You tried to stand. The attempt was... not the most successful.

Optimus was instantly at your side, holding you by the forearm—firmly but gently.

"Hey," — you protested, frowning.

"I'm actually standing just fine."

"Of course," — he said, completely serious.

"That's exactly what Autobots look like when they 'stand up perfectly.'"

You snorted and suddenly burst out laughing, pressing your forehead against his chest armor.

"You're too responsible," — you muttered.

"Today is a holiday..."

He leaned over slightly, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

"That's why," — he said softly, — "I'm taking you home before you decide to prove everyone wrong."

He carefully took the cube from you, set it aside, and, without lifting you—to allow you to maintain your dignity—led you out of the square.

You walked beside him, swaying slightly, holding onto his hand.

"Admit it," — you said quietly, — "you're glad I had fun."

He looked at you sideways. There was warmth in his optics.

"I'm glad," — he replied, — "that you trust me enough to come and get you when you've gone too far."