You had been one of Porrima's closest friends, and now here you were, questioning your decisions.

Porrima's apprentice, Cirrus, was sleeping at his desk when he was supposed to be revising the words written on the datapad that he'd tossed aside onto his berth.

Porrima was off-planet. She had been for a while.

She had gone to check-in at Delphi, the medical facility on Messatine. And she had left you, of all bots, to oversee her apprentice and his duties.

Porrima's said it before; Cirrus's one of the most difficult apprentices she's ever had the displeasure of mentoring. He's her only surviving apprentice, though.

All perished in the war. Porrima avoided talking about them like the plague.

Aconitine, Cinder, Fluorite, Concord, Sabre...

...All dead, apart from... well... maybe Aconitine, who was reported MIA during the earlier stages of the war.

She's as good as dead at this point, practically wiped off the face of Cybertron.

ANYWAYS... You've already had to reprimand Cirrus five times in the past two hours, two reasons of which that was him accidentally toppling something over, and for sneaking into a restricted section of the medical bay.

Porrima had left very clear rules before she departed, and so far, Cirrus had broken all of them.

Cirrus snorted and started to snore at the desk, his mouth ajar with his arms crossed on top of the desk, hunched over so his helm rested on them.

A note was taped to the corner of the desk, it read: 'Study desk. You study here. You may not sleep on it.' followed by a crude drawing of a furious Porrima in the bottom left, complete with smoke coming out of her audials and comically bared, sharp teeth.

Cirrus had probably drawn on it.

You watched, a frown on your faceplate as you leaned on the doorway. The room was dark save for the usual light pollution of Cybertron and the slight light of dawn, casting a warm yellow glow on where his untidy berth was.

You cleared your throat, but he hadn't heard you, and continued to doze off.