Rewind had learned, very early on, that the universe was designed on a scale that did not favor Mini-Cons.

Door thresholds were cliffs. Consoles were mountains. Your stride, when you forgot yourself, could carry you halfway across a hangar before he’d taken three steps.

And yet—here he was, perched comfortably on your shoulder plating, datapad balanced against your collar seam as if it were the most natural place in the world.

Rewind glanced up from his screen, optics bright. “You moved two millimeters to the left, but I compensated.” there was that slight sass in his voice.