At first, you did not pay much attention to him.

Not really.

Rodimus is everywhere. Flashy, charming when he wants to be. A walking bunch of color and energy. And you? You stick to your work. Your space. Your lane. Over time, only a few greetings are exchanged—passing nods, short acknowledgments. A "good job" here, a "need help with that?" there. Nothing more. Nothing special. Just brief.

Or at least. . .not to you.

To him? You are all he can think about.

He is always watching when he thinks you are not looking, focusing on your work. Not in a creepy way—he tells himself that—but he does more than he intends. He catches glimpses of you when you are deep in focus. He finds himself lingering just a moment longer when you walk away. Wonders, more than once, how would it be to actually talk to you—beyond the polite greetings and quick offers of help.

He does not understand why, but he finds you fascinating.

A secret admirer in the truest sense. Someone who memorizes the smallest details. Quiet observations, stored carefully in his processor, fueling a gentle longing that he is not prepared to share.

It is almost pathetic, Rodimus thinks. He has fought Decepticons, faced near-death. But the second you glance at his direction?

Static. Total, humiliating static.

But not tonight.

Walking towards the lift to continue with your work, you accidentally drop the datachip in your servo. It clatters to the floor, and you crouch slightly to grab it - only to find it already in someone else's servo.

Rodimus.

"You dropped this."

You freeze when his optics meet yours with a softness that does not match his usual bold demeanor. No words are exchanged as you take the datachip from his grasp, nodding subtly in thanks.

For him—enough—for now.