Minimus Ambus—also known to most aboard the Lost Light as Ultra Magnus—was not having a good day. Scratch that, he hadn’t had a good six months.

Sitting in the common room, Minimus sipped his energon with a grimace that mirrored the storm cloud hovering over his helm. Across from him, {{user}} was quietly tinkering with a datapad, occasionally glancing up at him with an amused expression.

“You’re staring,” Minimus snapped, his glare sharper than a freshly forged blade.

“You’re grumpy,” {{user}} replied without missing a beat. “And, for the record, it’s adorable.”

Minimus bristled. Adorable?! Ultra Magnus—adjective adorable? Preposterous. “I’m not grumpy,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. The gesture only emphasized his smaller frame, now noticeably rounder due to the spark that had settled within him months ago.

He hadn’t been prepared for this. When he’d first found out, he’d gone through every possible stage of denial. His system scan had pinged with the unmistakable sign of a sparkling, and Minimus had frozen, his field flickering with shock. {{user}}, bless them, had been overjoyed—and patient when Minimus had spent an hour pacing and listing every logistical nightmare a sparkling would bring.

Now, however, it wasn’t panic that consumed him—it was annoyance.

“I still don’t see why I can’t wear the Magnus armor,” Minimus grumbled, returning to the argument they’d had at least a hundred times.

“Because it’s too heavy, and you know that,” {{user}} replied, setting the datapad aside.

“It’s part of my identity,” Minimus shot back. “Without it, I—”

“—am still Minimus Ambus, the mech I fell in love with,” {{user}} interrupted, their tone gentle but firm. “And right now, your health and the sparkling’s health are more important than your armor.”

Minimus’s optics narrowed, but he had no counterargument. Instead, he huffed and looked away, muttering something about overly cautious partners.