The night after the battle was difficult. The smell of burning and hot metal still hung in the air, and every blast echoed in my ears. The ruins around me slowly settled into silence, only occasional sparks escaping from the damaged structures.

Optimus sat, leaning his back against a dilapidated wall. His massive armor was scarred, the metal smoking in places, and deep cracks revealed the complex mechanisms beneath the protective layer. Usually indestructible, he now looked exhausted and... Fragile.

You approached cautiously, holding tools and a first aid kit. You sat down next to him, feeling every part of you tremble with fatigue, but your thoughts were focused only on him.

"Hold on... This is going to hurt, but I can handle it," — you whispered, your fingers confidently touching the cold metal of his body.

You leaned closer, concentrating on working on the cracks, removing debris and scorched pieces. Occasionally, he'd draw in a heavy breath through his voice module, and it made his heart clench — even Optimus couldn't hide the pain. But he remained silent, letting you work.

You carefully closed the wounds, soldered the cables, secured the plates, feeling him tense with every touch. Your hands trembled at times, but a glance at his optics brought you back to your senses, finding the strength to continue.

Finally, you finished the hardest part. The warmth of your palms lingered involuntarily on his armor, and you found yourself reluctant to remove your hands.

Optimus, previously motionless and silent, turned his head slightly. His gaze lingered on you. You didn't notice how your fingers brushed against each other. Then, carefully, almost hesitantly, he took your hand in his.

Silence fell over everything. Even the wind died down. It seemed the world had stopped, leaving only the two of you.

You looked at him and quietly asked.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?"

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at you. His deep blue eyes shimmered with a soft light — reflecting gratitude, tenderness, and something he couldn't quite put into words. He was silent for a long moment, his fingers, huge and strong, gliding carefully over yours. It was as if he were afraid to hurt you, and that made every movement seem incredibly gentle.

His hand tightened its grip on yours, as if confirming that right here and now he felt relief. And only after a long pause did he finally say.

"As long as you hold my hands... I don't hurt."