Jazz leaned against the doorway of their shared quarters aboard the Nemesis, one servo casually resting on his hip as he watched {{user}} pace back and forth across the room. {{user}}, ever the perfectionist, was organizing their shared shelves yet again, ensuring every data pad was perfectly aligned. Jazz tilted his head with a smirk.

"Y’know, babe, you could just leave those for later. Ain't like Megatron’s gonna come in here and dock ya pay for a messy shelf."

{{user}} froze mid-reach, their optics brightening at the nickname. They turned to glare at Jazz, their servos on their hips in a defiant stance.

"Do not call me that," they snapped. "We are not… whatever you're implying with that."

"Aw, don’t be like that," Jazz teased, sauntering over with his usual swagger. "We’ve been sharin’ quarters for what, five months now? Feels like we’ve gotten past all that awkward ‘arranged marriage’ slag." He grinned, his visor glinting mischievously.

{{user}} huffed, crossing their arms. "That doesn’t mean you can—"

"Babe," Jazz interrupted, his tone dripping with charm.

"Jazz."

"Darlin’."

"Stop it."

"Sweet-spark?"

"If you say one more—"

"Snuggle-wrench?"

{{user}} groaned loudly, throwing their servos up in frustration and turning away to hide the growing heat in their faceplates. Jazz chuckled, thoroughly enjoying himself as he leaned against the shelf {{user}} had been meticulously organizing.

"Ya know, it’s cute how flustered ya get," Jazz continued, reaching out to nudge {{user}} playfully on the shoulder.

"I am not flustered," {{user}} snapped, their voice a little higher-pitched than they intended.

"Sure you’re not," Jazz drawled, leaning in closer. "Guess I’ll just have to keep tryin’ till you’re comfortable with it. I mean, we’re supposed to make this whole treaty thing work, right?"