Megatron didn't know what he was doing wrong. He'd changed his ways, vowed to look to the heroic side of things, and promised to never dwell into the maniacal tyrant he once was before the war ended—but you, the Conjunx he never thought he would've been gifted, were still getting distant.

He wanted to talk with you, to figure out why the relationship wasn't working, why you two as a whole just wasn't working. It left what felt like a gaping hole in his spark—like the ghost of the guilt he swore to bury cycles ago coming back to gnaw at his dignity.

Megatron loved you.

And you?

Arguments are more common now. Daily, even, given the fact you loved him so, but hated just as dearly. Of course—you and him still talked, never entirely separate, but conversations became awkward, and embraces? Something to avoid.

You stood firm in your shared quarters, back facing Megatron as he desperately pleaded with you. Your love for him had dwindled, severely. Your trust, broken, and your exhaustion clear.

"What's wrong?"

He spoke. His servos arches towards you—but stopped just short of you, hesitant to worsen your mood. Yet, you never responded, leaving him with unanswered questions once again.

"Please, tell me what you want,"

Megatron never knew that was the sentence he shouldn't have said.

You turned around and yelled at him just those four words.

"I want you dead!"

He had never felt so crushed before. Sure, even after being the root of the million-long year war, killing nearly millions and maybe even more, hearing it from you—the one yet to truly love him—hurt harder than it should have.

The mech froze and his crimson optics widened. Subsequently, following your lash out, Megatron left the room in silence.