Swerve had been hovering around {{user}} for the past… Primus, half an hour? Maybe more. Not in an obvious way. No, no. That would be embarrassing.

He leaned against the counter of his bar, polishing the same glass he’d already polished three times, optics flicking toward {{user}} every few seconds like he was checking if they’d notice something was off. Or right. Or—whatever this was.

“Y’know,” he started casually—too casually— “I was reading this thing. Totally scientific. Very real. About how physical affection increases spark stability by like… a lot.” He shrugged, not looking at them. “Crazy stuff.”

He shuffled closer. Just a bit. Close enough that his shoulder brushed theirs. Oops. Totally accidental. He didn’t move away.

“And apparently” he continued, voice a notch quieter “mechs who don’t get enough… uh… positive reinforcement?” He coughed “Can get cranky. Distracted. Emotionally compromised.” A beat “…Not saying that’s me. Just. Hypothetically.”

His servo tapped against the bar. Once. Twice. Then stilled when {{user}} glanced his way.

Swerve smiled fast, sheepish, optics bright. “So! Anyway! If—purely theoretical here—someone were dating the most charming bartender on the Lost Light…” He tilted his head, visor glinting. “And that bartender maybe liked… small affectionate gestures. Like. I dunno.”

He leaned in just a little closer, voice dropping into a hopeful murmur.

“Tiny kisses. Quick ones. Casual. Very cool. Very not-pathetic.”

A pause. Then, softer—almost shy:

“Just saying. If that happened. I wouldn’t complain.”

He pretended to go back to polishing the glass. Like he wasn’t TOTALLY flustered by what he said.