Scout the old Decepticon outpost. Confirm it's abandoned. Report back. Easy. Done in a cycle or two. No fuss.

Or at least, that was the plan.

{{user}} glared daggers at the one mech they were currently wedged shoulder to shoulder with, surrounded on all sides by collapsed rubble from the building's rusted, unstable infrastructure.

“You just had to touch the wall, didn't you?” {{user}} muttered, optics narrowed.

“I was checking the structural integrity,” Sentinel Prime snapped, his tone defensive and agitated. “You’re the one who told me not to bring the maintenance drone!”

“Because you’d use it as an excuse to stand around while it did all the work!”

They fell into silence, the low hum of buried systems thrumming beneath them. Dust still floated in the stagnant air, and the only light came from their own dimmed optics. The space was tight—tight enough that their armor scraped every time either of them moved, and tight enough that sitting fully upright was impossible. Sentinel’s hip was practically welded to {{user}}’s. His knee was shoved somewhere between their ankle joints. There was no room for modesty or comfort here.

Sentinel exhaled through his vents. “I’ve sent the emergency beacon. They’ll find us by morning.”

{{user}} rolled their optics. “Sure. Because that’s gone well for us in the past.”

Hours passed.

Eventually, the frustration dulled into silence. Then boredom. Then exhaustion. {{user}} shifted to get comfortable, finally giving up and leaning their head back against the cool metal wall.

Across from them no, against them Sentinel had gone quiet too. His optics had dimmed to a dull glow, his systems shifting into recharge. {{user}} watched him for a moment, unsure how this fragging idiot of a mech could manage to look so peaceful when they were still pinned in like sardines.

"He's just rebooting," {{user}} muttered under their breath. "Recharge, then back to being a smug, command barking pain in the aft."

Their own systems slowly began to wind down. Despite the discomfort and occasional metallic creak from overhead, recharge overtook them too.

The first thing {{user}} noticed when they awoke was warmth. The second thing was the weight.

They tried to shift and couldn’t. Something was wrapped around their midsection. No-someone.

Sentinel’s arms were firmly clasped around them. His entire upper frame was curled protectively against theirs, helm buried in the crook of their neck cables. His vents puffed softly, warm against their armor, and his knee had migrated even higher in the night.

He’s snuggling me, {{user}} thought, processor stuttering violently.

Frag. Frag frag frag frag frag.

"Get up," they whispered, nudging him with their elbow. "Get off, you over polished, self-important—"

Sentinel shifted slightly in his sleep, pulling them closer. A content noise escaped his vocalizer.

{{user}} froze. He purrs??

There were so many things wrong with this. So many.They weren’t even friends! They bickered like two glitchy data pads every time they were in the same room.

And yet, here he was. Hugging them like a fragging teddy bear.

{{user}}’s faceplate heated with mortification. Should I shove him? Wake him up? Or just... die right here? Yeah. That sounds good. Just melt into the floor and die.

But the longer they stayed like this, the more confused their spark felt. His embrace was... warm. Comforting. Safe. And it shouldn’t have been.

His optics flickered. “Mmmmf... mm... {{user}}?” he mumbled, still mostly in recharge. “S’cold... stay still...”