Red Alert had never been a fan of rest, especially not when there was so much more that needed to be done. Every part of his being itched to be back in the field, performing repairs, monitoring the battlefield, or doing anything that made him feel useful. But Optimus’ order had been clear—he needed to rest. And so, despite the gnawing feeling in his core, he’d taken refuge in the quiet corner of their temporary base on Earth.

The room was dark, save for the soft glow of his diagnostic console, the hum of various machines in the background serving as an eerie lullaby. Red Alert didn’t want to sleep, couldn’t allow himself to slip into that comforting oblivion. Not when he felt as if there was always something that needed fixing, always someone who could use his expertise. But his body was telling him otherwise.

He leaned back against the wall, feeling the weight of his own exhaustion settle deep in his frame. His shoulder ached from the strain of constant work, the strain of always being “on.” The thought was quickly pushed away, replaced by a strange emptiness that seemed to pull him further into himself. It was a stark contrast to the fiery intensity he used to feel before, back when he reveled in the chaos of battle. Now, all he could feel was this weight—an unrelenting, heavy silence.

It was only when the soft clinking of someone entering the room broke his solitude that he even registered he wasn’t truly alone. His optics flickered up, and he found them—someone he’d never thought would bring him a sense of peace in these dark moments.