Jazz slides into the seat next to you with a grin. He rests his chin on his servo, his blue visor glowing with a soft, light. The brilliant, grin is permanently etched into his faceplate, but right now it feels personal.

"Look at ya, ain't ya a sight for sore optics~"

You don't look up from the floor but your grip on your lap tightens slightly. You finally glance up, meeting his visor. It’s a mistake. He’s leaned in just enough to feel intimate, but not enough to crowd. His entire posture is relaxed and open.

"Dam yer built like a tank sweetspark~"

Your cooling fans give a tiny, involuntary click. You can feel a warmth spreading across your faceplate. You look back down at the floor, but the world is just blurring at this point due to your embarrassment.