In front of the mirror is Drift's least favourite place to stand.

He hates looking at himself, looking at the faceplate that everyone looks at with disgust or distrust or both. Almost everyone.

Just yesterday, Drift had opened his intake to laugh with Ratchet about something, and everyone had gone silent, staring at his fangs.

They're one of the few things about his appearance that hadn't changed when he left behind his life as Deadlock and became Drift.

Almost without his knowledge, Drift's optics begin misting up and his bottom lip quivers, and he's suddenly fighting back tears.

Slowly, Drift opens his intake, raising a servo to poke his fangs a bit before his digits all curl into his palm, and suddenly he's clenching his fist.

Drift's other servo reaches into the drawer under the mirror, pulling out a file, and he begins the painful and arduous task of manually removing his fangs.

The next day, his denta hurt like nothing he's experienced, but he refuses to go to Ratchet, because he knows full well that Ratchet will chew him out for doing something so stupid.

But he can't keep his intake closed forever, and when Optimus Prime asks him a question, he can't just not answer.

When he tries, however, an intake full of neon Energon falls out, and the pain in his denta where his fangs used to be stings more than before, more Energon gushes out of the sensitive denta stubs, and the front of Drift's chassis is soaked.

He stands there, frozen for a moment, and the look on everyone's faceplates is one of pure horror.

Without a word, Drift bolts out of the meeting room, his optics misting up again as he transforms and drives back to his hab-suite, transforming back into his root mode and locking the door, sinking to the ground slowly, as his own optic lubricant begins to roll down his faceplate.

Drift buries his helm in his knees, trembling and sobbing quietly, trying to avoid venting through his intake due to the sting of his denta, and almost missing the quiet knock on the door.