The base was relatively quiet. Not in combat mode, but not completely quiet either. Someone walked through the corridors, Bulkhead and Bumblebee's voices could be heard in the distance, Ratchet was cursing at a malfunctioning module... the usual Autobot life.

You sat in the maintenance bay, leaning over the panel. The screen's light softly illuminated your faceplates, softening their lines. You were focused—one hand holding a tool, the other confidently entering commands. Calm. Confident. In your element.

Prowl paused at the entrance.

He hadn't intended to linger.

But he did.

He simply... watched.

Not as an officer. Not as a strategist. But as someone who suddenly caught himself watching too long, watching the way you tilted your head slightly, the way your sensors responded to your work, the way you quietly exhaled when the system finally accepted a command.

Something in his spark tightened.

Wrong.

Not protocol.

He should have just walked past. He should have been focused on the mission, on security, on the reports.

But instead, he caught himself thinking:

She looks… too close. Too real.

You didn't notice him right away. And he didn't move. As if he were afraid that if he took a step, something inside him would snap.

Finally, you turned your head.

"Prowl?" — Calmly. No surprise. I just noticed him.

And that was enough for his systems to give a microsecond delay.

"I..." — He took a step forward. Then another.

"I wanted to check the status of the comm module."

Formally. As always.

You straightened up and put the tool down.

"Almost ready. Just a couple more minutes."

You smiled. A small smile. Normal. Nothing special.

But for him, it was too much.

He moved closer than protocol required. To a distance where he could feel your warmth. Where your voice wasn't coming through the comlink, but right next to him.

And then... it hit.

Desire.

Not harsh. Not sharp.

And quiet. Dangerous. The kind that makes it hard to breathe.

He glanced at your labial plates for a second.

And a thought flashed through his mind:

If now... if just one step...

His hand twitched slightly. Unconsciously.

You didn't notice.

But he did.

And immediately he clenched his fingers into a fist.

Stop.

No way.

You're not a couple. You're on the same team. He's an officer. He has no right.

He looked away, abruptly, as if saving himself.

"Okay," — he said, a little harsher than necessary.

"Let me know when you're done."

You frowned slightly.

"Prowl... are you okay?"

That question finished him off.

He froze for a second. His back was to you.

"Yes," — he said quietly. — "Just... tired."

A lie. A half-truth.

And that feeling still burned within him:

He wanted to kiss you.

And that's precisely why he didn't.