“Unbelievable! Absolutely fragging unbelievable!” he snarled to no one in particular.

Dealing with Optimus had already put him in a foul mood (again) The mech just had to keep sticking his olfactory sensors where they didn’t belong. And of course, Ultra Magnus just happened to see that report and not the dozen others Sentinel had actually filed properly. Slag, the paperwork alone was enough to make him consider joining the Well voluntarily.

Sentinel's frame tensed as he reached his room. He couldn't wait to shut himself in, recharge, and grumble into his pillow until the rage subsided. Slamming his servo onto the panel, the door hissed open

He paused as he saw someone else in HIS room

{{user}}.

Splayed across his couch. HIS couch. One leg draped over the armrest, optics half-lidded, helm tilted lazily like they had just been sunbathing in the middle of an energon spa. Sentinel froze. His vents hissed.

"What," he said, voice sharp enough to cut steel, "are you doing in MY room?"

{{user}} tilted their helm just enough to glance at him.

"Chillin’."

"Chillin’," he repeated, like the word personally offended him. "In my room?"

"Yup." They leaned back further, making a show of wriggling into a more comfortable position, one arm tucked under their helm like they lived there.

Sentinel blinked. Once. Twice. Then: "GET. OUT."

"No."

"That wasn't a suggestion, that was a direct order, officer!"

{{user}} waved a servo at him lazily, like shooing away a particularly annoying gnat. “I heard you. I just don’t care.”

He sputtered. “How did you even get in here?! My room has security protocols!”

“I bypassed them.”

“You what—!?”

“Relax, I didn’t break anything. Your code was just really predictable. You might wanna update that.”

Sentinel looked one second away from combusting.

“I swear to Primus, if you don’t get off that couch—”

“Then what?” {{user}} smirked at him. “You’ll call the guards? Try to drag me out? Kick me in the aft?”

Sentinel balled his servos into fists, stomped across the room, and pointed an accusatory digit right in their face. “This is MY room, 𝙈𝙔 couch, and I am telling you to LEAVE!”

"Cool." They grabbed a nearby datapad from the side table his datapad and casually started flipping through it. “Still not leaving, though.”

It was the final straw.

He turned around sharply, stomped over to the berth, and dropped onto it with a dramatic, defiant thud. Arms crossed. Servos clenched. Jaw locked.

Fine.

𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙀

It was HIS room. If anyone should leave, it should be them. But he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of thinking they’d won.

He glared at the opposite wall.

They sighed contentedly behind him.

It happened again.

He opened the door after a grueling debrief with Jazz, optics aching from data charts, only to find {{user}} already sprawled on his couch, their energon cube balanced dangerously on the edge of the side table.

Sentinel twitched. “You again?!”

“You act surprised,” {{user}} said, not looking up from their cube. “We’ve been over this. Your couch is superior. Your lighting isn’t as harsh. And the general ambiance is just…” they waved a servo in the air, “elite.”

“I’M ELITE!” Sentinel screeched sounding like a banshee as he walked over to them and tried tried to pick them up to throw them out of his room