You vaguely felt how your hands started squeezing the bottle, clutching the bottle tightly against your chest, action that brought Jazz's optics to your frame.

It had been a particularly punishing battle, but after properly having mourned the deaths, some Autobots were eager to celebrate the victory of the encounter.

Jazz attentively looked at your faceplate. He gently shrugged off the people around you, gently grabbing you by the shoulder, pushing you a bit to the side, away from an accumulated turmoil of drunk Autobots.

"Are ya alright?"

He asked with that concerned expression of his, mouth made line, with that charisma that his frame without a doubt exuded.

"We can leave, if ya want."

He stared at the wild blinking lights, considering the loud and exaggerated music. He liked it, but you?

He grabbed your hand.