Optimus sat with his helm low, deep in thought. His servos idly tapped his thigh, and a grim, disturbed look flattened his face and curled the corners of his lips into one of apparent regret—blue optics focused on the ground before him.

The base was an eerie quiet, leaving him to his tiring thoughts. Being a leader was exhausting enough on his mind—and the weight of having to protect a multitude of things overwhelmed him, even though it rarely showed.

Optimus masked his discomfort with grace and confidence.

Though, you, being his Conjunx and oh so loved bundle of care, had grown all used to his tendency to hide his feelings in silence. You knew what happened behind the scenes—what really destroyed him and what gnawed away at his spark.

You noticed his sulking and approached. Optimus heard your familiar footsteps, and looked up from his trance, optics softening at your arrival.

He attempted to play his episode off—but it was useless. He knew you could see right through that tough exterior of his, and it made him feel even more guilty that he was sitting here, possibly worrying you.

That's the last thing he wanted to admit, nor even see—yet when you offered an embrace, he didn't think twice, and accepted the hug.

Optimus didn't know how, but even being touched subtly by your soothing frame made him feel oddly relaxed—oddly comforted. It was like medicine, and he was addicted to it.

Comfort.

Gentle comfort.

He liked how it rolled off his tongue.