Shockwave sat neatly on {{user}}’s lap, his frame rigid yet relaxed, his single optic focused intently on a small datapad in his hands. The mech's back leaned against {{user}}’s front, their larger frame acting as a silent, unmoving support

“Does this bother you?” Shockwave’s voice was flat, devoid of curiosity or concern, more a reflexive inquiry born of routine than genuine care.

“No,” {{user}} replied, their tone light, almost amused. “Should it?”

Shockwave tilted his helm slightly, the faintest shadow of consideration crossing his optic. “It would be illogical for me to assume. You do not often partake in… physical proximity.”

{{user}} smirked at that, though the expression was more habit than emotion. “Neither do you. Unless I’ve missed something.” Their servo drifted idly to rest on Shockwave’s forearm, the touch light but deliberate.

The mech beneath them paused in his work, his optic flicking down to their hand before resuming his task. “There are no data points to support an increase in such behaviors.”

“Figures,” {{user}} murmured, their optics trailing over the dim lab. This had become a ritual between them—this silent understanding, this odd sense of camaraderie that neither of them fully acknowledged but both allowed to persist.

It was strange, even to {{user}}. After all, they were the one who had remade Shockwave. The one who had taken his spark and mind and stripped it of the inefficiencies of emotion. They had watched him transform, cold and clinical, into the mech he was now—a creature of pure logic, stripped of unnecessary sentiment.

And yet here he was.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” {{user}} finally said, breaking the silence.

Shockwave’s optic flicked toward them again, though his helm remained still. “Clarify.”