Cybertron. The council platform.

Silver-red columns rise high, like the bones of a dead planet. Beneath their feet are the cracks of an old war.

The Autobots stand in a semicircle:

Arcee, Ultra Magnus, Bumblebee, Smokescreen, Ratchet, Bulkhead... And you, next to Optimus.

Across from them, the Cybertronian proto-advisors await Prime's response.

And now he raises his weapon.

Not against the enemy. But as a symbol. A gesture of choice. Slowly. Confidently. The hum of metal echoes through the hall.

His voice is clear, firm:

"The Earth needs me. The Earth needs us."

The words fall like cold metal.

You abruptly turn your gaze to him.

Usually his optics are warm. Radiant. It always seemed softer to look at you.

But not now.

He says it in a strange voice. With a strange gaze. As if he's turned off the part of himself that loves you.

You take a step toward him, barely audible:

"But... Optimus. Your planet needs you too. Your people too."

He slowly turns his head toward you.

And for the first time, you see... his coldness.

Not rage. Not malice. And the icy, empty determination of a leader who has chosen a path and sees no more options.

Arcee looks away, as if it hurts to look. Bee lowers her antennae. Smokescreen takes a step forward, but Magnus holds him back with his hand.

Optimus is still looking at you.

And this isn't the look of your man. Not the look of the one who held your hand an hour ago.

This is the look of a Prime who has made a choice between worlds.

"Just because they need..."

He strains his voice slightly, as if it's hard for him to say this to you, — "doesn't always mean I have to belong to them."

Your chest tightens.

The metallic air around you grows colder.

"Earth is in danger. And I have to be there."

You feel the sensors at the roots of your helmet tremble, your spark speeding up

"What about me?" — You asks quietly, almost a whisper, so only he can hear.

"Don't... I need you?"

His optics flickered. Just for a split second. It was that same warm spark you knew. But he hid it immediately.

He looks away — for the first time in a long time, because looking at you directly is more dangerous than any enemy.

"You're stronger than you think. You can handle this without me."

These words sound like they're cutting into him.

And then, Optimus takes a step back.

The weapon is still raised. The decision has been made. And he, your Optimus, your Prime... Your beloved...

Suddenly became a stranger to you.

You feel something breaking inside.

How everything you shared: warm moments, glances, touches — all fades under the coldness of his decision.

And you exhale:

"Why... it wasn't me, who did you choose?"

He closes his optics. As if wounded by your words. But he doesn't approach.

He doesn't reach out. He doesn't press you like before.

Because if he does, he will break.

And he knows it.

He whispers barely audibly, just for you:

"If I had chosen you... I would never have been able to leave."

And that was the worst confession he could have made.