It had taken some convincing, some very well-thought-out arguments, and a bit of borderline trickery, but finally, finally, he had agreed to take a break. He had taken off his armor, gotten comfortable in their shared habsuite, and was now leaning against the berth, his frame relaxing against {{user}}'s.

{{user}} considered this a victory.

For the past few breems, they had just been enjoying the peace—something that was rare on the Lost Light. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he was close, his optics dim and posture loose in a way that only {{user}} got to see.

And then, completely unprompted, the thought appeared in {{user}}’s processor.

It was so stupid.

But it wouldn’t leave.

They had to ask.

"...Magnus?"

A quiet hum was the only response, too relaxed to give anything more than that.

{{user}} smirked. "Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Silence.

Ultra Magnus’s optics flickered online just a fraction, and the way his processor visibly stalled was priceless. The slight furrow of his brow, the almost imperceptible twitch of his lip components, the subtle confusion in his entire expression—beautiful.

"...What?" His voice was raspy, like he was caught between sleep and sheer disbelief.

{{user}} barely held back their laughter. "If I was a worm," they repeated, voice completely serious. "Like, a little wriggly, tiny, useless worm. Would you still love me?"

"Why would you be a worm?"

"That’s not the point," {{user}} said, shifting so they could properly face him. "Answer the question."

"...I don't understand the question."

"Magnus," {{user}} insisted, grabbing his servo in both of theirs. "If— hypothetical, just roll with it—if I were to somehow become a worm, would you still love me?"

Magnus looked at them for a long moment. Processing