Spring on Earth always affected him differently.

He didn't say it out loud.

But you noticed how, in recent cycles, he lingered outside the base more often. He stood motionless longer, listening to the wind. He meditated not in the training hall, but on the roof, facing the horizon.

And when he approached you one day, his head slightly bowed, you immediately knew something was wrong.

"Y/N," he said calmly. "Clear the evening cycle."

"Is that an order?" you narrowed your eyes.

"No. An invitation."

Your spark core made a strange leap.

"Where?"

He looked away. "You'll see."

He led you out of town.

Not along the main road—along a narrow road leading to open fields. Where there were no buildings. Where the air was cleaner. Where the sounds of the city faded into a distant background.

The sun was already setting.

The sky was awash with soft shades of red, pink, and gold. The grass seemed almost fiery in the light.

You stopped, looking around. "Prowl... here..."

He stood slightly behind you. Calm. Reserved. But his optics softly reflected the sunset.

"This place is remote from human activity," he said. "Minimal noise. Low probability of detection."

You turned to him. "You brought me on a date and you're still writing an analytical report?"

Pause.

"I'm trying."

And there was so much honesty in that 'trying' that you couldn't help but smile.

A breeze swept across the field, swaying the flowers. There were many of them—small whites, bright yellows, purples among the greenery.

"I've noticed," he continued quietly, "that the organic environment stabilizes your sensory readings. You relax more often outside the base."

You blinked. "You were analyzing me?"

"I was observing." That sounded softer.

You took a few steps forward, letting the flowers brush against your armor. You raised your head to the sky.

The sun's rays slid across your faceplates.

You slowly closed your optics, feeling the wind brush against your sensors.

"It's beautiful here..." you said quietly.

He looked at you. Longer than he had at the horizon.

"Yes."

You turned around. "Did you find this place while meditating?"

"Yes."

"And decided to bring me?"

He nodded.

"I... wanted to share."

You moved closer. There was less than a step between you now.

"Prowl... is this really a date?"

He froze.

"Yes."

No elaboration. No amendments. Just "yes."

Your spark core responded with a soft warmth. You sank down onto the grass, running your fingers over the flowers.

"So what are we going to do on a date, Strategist?"

He sat down next to you. Unusually close.

"I'm not sure of the standard protocols for this kind of interaction."

"You're so sweet when you try to be formal."

He bowed his head ever so slightly.

You picked a few flowers.

"Then let's start simple."

He watched you weave the stems.

"It's a wreath," you explained.

"The structure is unstable."

"Not everything has to be stable."

You handed him some of the flowers.

He hesitated, but took them. His movements were careful. Precise. Almost meditative. The sunset reflected off his black-and-gold armor, tinting it with a soft gold.

You looked at him. "Why today?" you asked quietly.

He didn't answer right away. The wind rustled in the grass.

"Because spring is the beginning of a cycle of renewal," he finally said. "And I... wanted to start something right."

Your breathing grew quieter.

"With me?"

He turned to you. His optics met yours.

"Yes."

You finished the wreath first. You rose slowly and walked toward him.*

"Don't move."

He froze.

You carefully placed the wreath on his helmet.

The flowers looked surprisingly harmonious against his austere armor.

"You look... different," you whispered.

"Wrong?"

"No. Alive."

He stood up.

He was closer now. Very close. He took the second wreath. His fingers barely brushed yours.

"May I?"

You nodded.

He carefully placed it on you. Slowly. Almost reverently. For a second he didn't remove his hand.