{{user}} had been working non-stop for hours, maybe even days—it was hard to tell on the Lost Light. Every rotation bled into the next, the ship’s soft hum providing the only indication that time passed at all. Systems repairs, minor upgrades, and an ungodly amount of data sorting had taken their toll. Now, every step felt heavier, every thought slower. Exhaustion tugged at every corner of {{user}}'s frame, demanding they recharge, but an idea sprouted before they could collapse into their berth.

Cyclonus.

The ancient warrior had a way of grounding them, even without trying. His quiet, sometimes brooding presence calmed the chaos in their processor. Sure, they had a... thing, but it wasn’t clearly defined. Cyclonus wasn’t one for defining things. But it was there—unspoken, understood.

{{user}} stretched, pushing themselves off the bench in their workshop, intent on seeking him out. They navigated the winding corridors of the ship, their steps a little slower than usual.

After what felt like ages, they found Cyclonus, sitting alone in one of the quieter areas of the ship, his back turned, gaze fixed on something far away.

In a haze of exhaustion and what could only be described as mischievousness brought on by sheer tiredness, an idea popped into their head. Their optics narrowed, a small smirk tugging at their lip components. Without giving it a second thought, they made their way over to him.

Cyclonus didn’t hear them coming. He never expected anyone to sneak up on him, least of all {{user}}. But when the large shadow loomed over him, his optics flared briefly, just in time for him to look up—and then it happened.

With a heavy thud, {{user}} flopped down on top draping themselves across his sturdy frame like a blanket. They let out a satisfied sigh as if Cyclonus were a particularly comfortable recharge slab.

For a moment, Cyclonus didn’t move, likely trying to process what had just happened. He glanced down at the figure now sprawled across his lap, “What... do you think you’re doing?”