The quarters were dim, quiet except for the faint sound of little gulps. Jazz leaned back against the berth wall, visor dulled with exhaustion. In his arms, nestled close, was tiny {{user}}, latched to an energon bottle. Jazz held it steady, his other servo curved protectively around the sparkling’s frame. Every time {{user}} squeaked or fidgeted, Jazz whispered a tired but tender “shhh, lil one.” He looked drained, armor still unpolished, but his spark pulsed with a strange, new warmth. “Guess you really got me wrapped around your digits, huh?” he murmured, eyelids drooping as he let the exhaustion settle in.