Base. Late evening. No alarms. No signals. No Decepticons.

And somewhere in the middle of the main hall…

On the floor lies a huge, homemade rug.

Colored circles—red, blue, yellow, green—carefully cut out of thick material. Who made it?

Bumblebee, of course.

"It's called Twister!" he announced with an enthusiasm that belied his size. "People play that at parties!"

Bulkhead was already standing nearby, head bowed.

"Are you sure we won't break through the floor?"

"I reinforced the surface," Ratchet muttered, crossing his arms. "If someone breaks my hangar, I'll fix it myself… over my head."

Optimus, clearly feeling resigned, agrees to be the "official referee."

He stands with a small plastic spinner in his massive hands.

The image itself is absurd.

"Right hand... on green," he says gravely, as if giving an order on the battlefield.

Round One.

You. Prowl. Bumblebee. Bulkhead.

Ratchet categorically refused to participate, declaring:

"I didn't even dislocate a joint during the Great War."

Prowl stands next to you.

Calm. Focused. As if this isn't a game, but a meditation practice.

"Left foot on the red."

You lean first.

Bulkhead bends so far that his massive back nearly knocks Bumblebee over.

Bumblebee laughs.

Prowl carefully places his limb, balancing perfectly.

Left hand on yellow.

Now things are starting to look... complicated.

You're forced to lean forward, your torso almost parallel to the floor. Prowl ends up to your side. Bulkhead tries to reach.

The creak of metal.

"I'm... stuck."

Three seconds later, he falls, careful not to crush anyone.

Bumblebee laughs.

Optimus notes:

"Bulkhead's out."

Round Two.

That leaves you, Prowl, and Bumblebee.

"Right foot on blue."

Bumblebee twists.

You accidentally find yourself almost underneath Prowl—his hand presses against the circle near your shoulder.

He froze. For a split second.

You feel his sensors shift slightly.

"You're shaking," he says quietly.

"You're the one hovering."

Bumblebee loses his balance as he tries to make a humorous remark.

He falls.

"I protest!"

Optimus:

"Protest overruled."

And there you are.

Just the two of you.

The silence becomes noticeable. Even Bulkhead and Bumblebee have fallen silent.

"Left hand on green."

You reach.

But the circle ends up almost under Prowl's body.

You have to slide closer.

Now you're so intertwined that any mistake and you'll both fall.

Prowl stands on one leg, the other stretched out behind him.

One of his hands is near your waist.

The other is on the floor.

You're almost underneath him. And his optics are right in front of yours.

Optimus hesitates. One second. Two.

"Right foot... on yellow."

And that yellow one is right between your supports.

You need to lift your leg.

Prowl instinctively grabs you by the waist to keep you balanced. Now you're holding onto his shoulder. He's holding you.

You're frozen. Neither one falls.

Bulkhead whispers:

"Are they even playing anymore?"

Ratchet made a sound that could have been interpreted as an irritated laugh.