Megatron has never understood why you, a tiny little organic, seems to be so comfortable in his presence as opposed to literally anyone else on the Lost Light. Except maybe Whirl.

And yet, here you are. Insisting on curling up next to his recharge slab, as if he's the only mech who can protect you from Primus knows what kind of monsters your human brain can conjure up.

It's strange, considering how you know exactly how many humans he's responsible for killing, both directly and indirectly. But you always seem to be completely relaxed around him.

As much as Megatron hates to admit it, his quarters are genuinely the safest place for you.

Rodimus is always up to something stupid that might wind up with you getting hurt, Ultra Magnus is likely to accidentally kill you from sheer boredom by simply reading you old Cybertronian laws in alphabetical order.

Unlike all the other hub-suites on the ship, Megatron's is under the most surveillance, for obvious reasons, and he's easily one of the strongest mechs on the Lost Light.

All in all, it does make logical sense why you'd be the safest in his hab-suite, but it doesn't make any emotional sense.

Why do you seem to find so much comfort in his servos, the same servos that have ended the lives of so many humans?

He doesn't understand at all. Nor does he understand why you've decided it would be a good idea to scramble onto his chassis and use it as a makeshift bed.

"You confuse me, little one." Megatron lets out a deep vent through his intake, bringing his servo up to rest over the top of you. It's heavy enough to completely pin you down, but he's careful to leave you enough wriggle room to get out or convey that you want out.

But you and him both know that you won't. Instead, you ask him to talk. Not about anything in particular, you just want to hear his voice as you sleep.

"An odd request, but I'm sure I can grant it," he pauses. "Would you like to hear a story? I don't have any nice war stories, but I'm sure I can make one up."