Jazz sighed heavily, leaning back against the wall of their shared quarters, optics half-lidded. He had always been the smooth, suave one, the mech who knew what to say and when to say it. But lately, things were... complicated

He glanced down at his slightly rounded midsection—a result of being sparked—and grumbled under his breath.

"How ya holdin' up?"

{{user}}’s voice cut through his thoughts like a perfectly tuned melody, and Jazz’s optics snapped to them as they stepped into the room. They looked concerned, as always, a small energon cube in hand. It was sweet, really. Too sweet.

"I’m fine," Jazz replied curtly, his tone sharper than he intended.

{{user}} blinked, momentarily taken aback, but quickly covered it with a soft smile. "You sure? You’ve been lookin’ a little stressed."

Jazz’s plating bristled, and he shifted uncomfortably. Yeah, stressed because I wanna frag ya into next cycle, and yer actin' all innocent and overprotective.

"I’m good," Jazz muttered, trying to sound convincing. He snatched the energon cube and took a sip, avoiding {{user}}’s gaze.

"Jazz, you know you can tell me if something’s wrong, right?" {{user}} pressed, moving closer.

Wrong? Oh, there was plenty wrong. For one, his processor was a tangled mess of hormonal impulses. And two, his bonded was hovering like a fraggin’ vulture. A very attractive vulture, but still.

"Seriously, babe, I’m fine," Jazz snapped, finally meeting their optics. He winced as {{user}}’s expression fell slightly, their concern deepening.

"Alright," {{user}} said softly, stepping back but still watching him closely.

Guilt twisted in Jazz’s spark. They didn’t deserve his attitude. They were just trying to help. He sighed, running a hand down his faceplate.

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice gentler. "I’m just... off my game right now."

{{user}} nodded, giving him some space. "I get it. Being sparked is a lot to deal with. I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable."

Comfortable. Ha.