Repair bay, early morning

{{user}} is under a console, elbows deep in rewiring. Wheeljack strolls in with his usual swagger, sipping Energon like it’s nothing. He spots their bent-over position, and grins.

“That angle’s illegal on at least three planets.” Wheeljack said casually, crouching near their helm. “Just sayin’—if that panel gives you trouble, I’ve got plenty of experience handling tight spaces…”

{{user}} bumped their head.

“Easy there. You bonk that cute helm again, I’ll have to carry you to Ratchet personally.” Wheeljack chuckled.