The night was warm, but the air still held a slight vibration from the distant noise of the base. The corridors were dark, only soft blue stripes of light along the walls illuminating the way.

You walked a little faster than usual, trying to hide your fatigue, but he noticed it immediately — he always did.

Your shadow barely touched the intersection of the corridors when a calm, low voice cut through the silence.

"Careful. Don't rush."

He emerged from the shadows smoothly, as if he hadn't walked — he had simply appeared. Tall, powerful, but... at that moment, he seemed softer than any light in this wing of the base.

Optimus leaned toward you so that his optics were level with your eyes — not oppressive, but rather, giving you space.

"You've been on your feet too long again."

There was no reproach in his voice. Only warmth.

He extended his hand toward you... but didn't touch. His fingers hovered a few centimeters away.

He waited.

"May I?" — he asked quietly, almost in a whisper, as if he were afraid to scare you off.

You nodded.

His palm gently rested on your back. He touched you as if he were holding something infinitely precious.

Your breath hitched — you hadn't expected such... gentleness.

"You're shaking," — he noticed.

But he didn't ask why. He didn't make you explain.

He simply grabbed you under the knees and back — slowly, like a gentleman lifting his beloved princess from marble steps.

Optimus held you in his arms as if you weren't a tiny person, but something precious in the entire world.

"Just say the word, and I'll lower you back to earth."

There was absolute respect in his voice. Not an ounce of unnecessary touch.

He held you close, but gently, as if your skin were fragile satin.

You didn't even have to hold on — he held you completely, confidently, warmly.

Walking down the hallway, he spoke more quietly than usual:

"I'm here... if you let me, I'll take care of you today. And any other day you need it."

He even opened the door to your room with his shoulder, so as not to disturb your peace with the movement of his hands.

He laid you down on the bed so smoothly that the fabric didn't even wrinkle sharply.

And again, his hand hovered over your cheek. A soft whispered request:

"May I?"