The Nemesis hummed with its usual low, predatory thrum as Breakdown made his way through the steel corridors. Each step of his heavy frame sent a dull vibration through the deckplates, but his spark was anything but heavy right now—it was buzzing with one simple thought:

Knockout

Two years of dating and he still felt like a freshly activated protoform every time he thought about him

Breakdown was, by every Decepticon definition, a walking contradiction. A brutal enforcer on the battlefield… and an absolute simp off of it. For Knockout, especially. He loved everything about that vain, dramatic, impossibly red-coated medic

His voice His optics His confidence His sass His medical brilliance His strut His finish His frame—Primus, his frame

And yes. He had mentioned it more than once

Knockout thrived on it. He lived for the praise, for the way Breakdown would lean in just a little too close and murmur compliments like they were sacred hymns. Being spoiled by a towering, loyal bruiser was exactly the lifestyle Knockout believed he deserved

Breakdown reached the door to the medbay and slowed, adjusting his posture just slightly—trying to look less like he’d just walked out of a warzone and more like a boyfriend coming home

The door slid open with a smooth hydraulic hiss

The sterile white glow of the medbay spilled over him, catching on polished tools and glossy surfaces—and right in the center of it all, as always, was Knockout

He was leaned over a console, red finish gleaming under the lights, optics narrowed in focus as he ran diagnostics on a datapad. One perfectly shaped servo rested on his hip, posture effortlessly dramatic even when he was just standing there

Breakdown stopped in the doorway for half a second longer than necessary, just admiring him

How does he always look like that?

Finally, he cleared his throat softly

“You too busy for visitors?”