The Autobot base was unusually busy.

You stood in the main hangar, checking the data on the holographic terminal—one of the receiving nodes had just received a long-range signal. Optimus was standing a little to the side, talking with Ultra Magnus, when the new arrivals entered the portal.

There were three of them.

The first was tall and narrow, with a silvery-blue body and amber optics. His name was Razorspark. His movements were confident, almost predatory. He looked around too carefully, as if not simply assessing the base, but choosing who was who.

The second was massive, dark green, with broad shoulders and a kind, slightly awkward demeanor. Ironpine. He immediately bowed his head in a respectful gesture to Optimus.

The third was a silent scout, dark body, dim purple lights. Veilbit. He barely looked at anyone—except the escape routes.

You looked up from the terminal.

And Razorspark saw you.

Not as a fighter. Not as an officer. But too personally.

His optics lingered longer than was appropriate. A little longer than mere interest.

Arcee noticed it immediately. Bumblebee did too. Smokescreen raised an eyebrow. Bulkhead snorted.

Optimus: No. Not yet.

A Few Days Later.

It became noticeable.

Razorspark was around too often. Too often commented on your work. Too easily allowed familiarity in his tone.

"You work too hard. Relax." "For such a... delicate construct, you're surprisingly resilient." "Optimus keeps you under his wing, huh? Lucky."

You stopped him every time. Clearly. Calmly.

"I'm busy." "Keep your distance." "I have a partner."

He just grinned.

"A partner isn't a wall. Sometimes... they shift."

Arcee clenched her fingers. Ratchet muttered something unflattering. But... no one said anything to Optimus.

Everyone waited.

But this moment was the last straw.

You stood at the repair table, leaning over the power distribution diagram. Your fingers slid quickly across the hologram.

You didn't hear him approach.

The Razorspark was too close—and he allowed himself an unacceptable gesture: his palm abruptly, demonstratively touched your rear armor plate, below the acceptable contact zone, as if it were a joke. Testing the limits.

Silence.

Absolute.

You froze. Not from fear—from rage.

Optimus saw it first.

He turned his head—and his gaze grew heavy, like a falling slab.

Next: Arcee straightened up abruptly. Bumblebee froze. Bulkhead turned slowly. Smokescreen whispered: "Oh... he's dead."

You straightened up slowly.

Turned around.

Your optics were cold.

"Don't. Dare. Touch. Me."

Razorspark chuckled, still not understanding.

"Oh, come on. You're overreacting. I just—"

You stepped closer, forcing him to retreat.

"I told you before. I have a partner."

He snorted.

"So what? Even Primes don't last forever."

And then everyone looked at Optimus.

Slowly. Consciously.

Optimus took a step forward.

Alone.

The hangar floor seemed to lower.

"Say that again."

The voice was calm. Too calm.

The Razorspark finally understood.

Too late.