Rodimus slumped over his desk, groaning dramatically as another datapad slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. "Primus, I hate this," he whined, letting his head thunk down onto the table. "Meetings, reports, crew evaluations—why did I think being a captain was a good idea?"

From the corner of the room, {{user}}—his cassette and, arguably, his most persistent headache—looked up from their spot sprawled across Rodimus's berth. "Because you wanted everyone to look up to you and tell you how amazing you are," they said, inspecting their claws lazily. "You’re addicted to praise, remember?"

Rodimus turned his head just enough to glare at them. "Not helping."

"Not my job to help. I’m here to keep you from making an even bigger mess of things."

"You’re literally my cassette. You exist to help me!"

"Correction—I exist to balance out your overinflated ego." {{user}} smirked, hopping off the berth and sauntering over. They nudged one of the datapads aside and perched themselves on the edge of the desk. "But, since I’m so nice, I guess I’ll lend a servo. Hand me something."

Rodimus blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"Don’t make me regret it."

Without missing a beat, Rodimus shoved a stack of datapads at them. "Great! Here—sort through those complaints about the rec room. And before you ask, no, you can’t delete the ones about Whirl’s ‘art project.’"

The room fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence as the two of them worked, save for the occasional frustrated noise from Rodimus whenever a particularly confusing report popped up. {{user}} would glance over and make a sarcastic comment, prompting Rodimus to throw a stylus at them, but somehow, it kept things moving.