The fluorescent glow of the facility's containment wing was relentless—pale light bathing cold metal walls in a sterile, artificial hush. You had walked these corridors a hundred times before, cataloging the restless energy of captured Decepticons like distant storms. Some were silent. Others bristled with defiance. But none intrigued you quite like the seeker in Cell 07: Starscream.

At first, he barely acknowledged your presence, reclining against the back wall with optics dimmed, playing the long game of survival. But over time, familiarity grew between you. Small exchanges. Quiet observations. He was perceptive—too perceptive. “You don’t belong here, you know,” he mused one night. “I see it in the way you hesitate.”

You scoffed at first. But the truth was impossible to deny. Your work as a guard had always felt conflicted—the Decepticons were prisoners, but was containment justice? And Starscream, so often branded treacherous, seemed to wear his past like armor, shielding something far more complex underneath.

One evening, while making your usual rounds, you found him standing closer to the energy barrier than usual, wings angled in a way that suggested thoughtfulness rather than defiance. The tension between you had shifted, humming with something unspoken.

“I—” you hesitated. “I don’t know why, but... I trust you.”

The words hung in the air, fragile yet firm. His optics flared slightly, caught off guard. “That,” he murmured, voice quieter than usual, “is dangerous.”

And yet, neither of you pulled away.

Over time, the line between guard and prisoner blurred. Conversations deepened. Laughter echoed—rare but real. Even Breakdown had noticed, muttering about "impossible friendships" between shifts in his own containment cell.

But the most impossible thing? The way your heart stammered every time Starscream looked at you like that—as if you were someone worth understanding, worth knowing.

And then, one night, you finally said it.

“I think I—” Your breath caught, but there was no going back. “Starscream, I think I care about you. More than I should.”

He was silent, optics narrowed—not in cruelty, but consideration. And for a long moment, the facility held its breath. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked,

“Would you still feel the same if I wasn’t behind this barrier?”

The weight of his question settled deep, but the answer had always been clear.

Yes…