The base was suspiciously quiet.

Not "a lull in combat." Not "Ratchet is angry at Bumblebee." Just strangely quiet.

You woke to a faint metallic sound—the quiet click of a door. Someone had left.

A few minutes later, you emerged into the main hall.

Bulkhead was fiddling with the holographic projector. Bumblebee was humming. Ratchet was muttering under his breath. Optimus was standing by the window. And only Prowl was missing.

…

"Where's Prowl?" you asked, narrowing your optics slightly.

Bumblebee suddenly fell silent. Bulkhead coughed too loudly. Ratchet snorted suspiciously.

"Busy. Meditating. Probably."

Optimus didn't turn around, but you could have sworn the corner of his lips twitched slightly.

Something was happening.

A few hours later...

You returned to your room to check your weapon.

The door closed automatically behind you.

And you froze.

There was a small metal box on your desk. Neat. Black. With silver engraving. And the bow is glued on neatly and carefully.

…

You approached slowly.

Your spark's heart seemed to lose its rhythm. You opened the lid.

Inside lay small energon crystals, carved in the shape of hearts. They glowed softly—a pinkish-scarlet hue, a rare type of purified energon.

And beneath them—a folded sheet of metal film.

A heart on it. Hand-drawn.

You unfolded the letter.

"Y/N,

I can't say this out loud.

But you deserve to hear it.

You're disrupting my routine. You're throwing off my calculations. You're making the spark's heart speed up.

And I don't want to fix it.

If you'll allow me, I'd like to be there. Not as a partner. Not as a teammate.

But as the one who chooses you."

— Prowl.

Under the signature was another small heart.

It was drawn a little unevenly. He was clearly trying.

You let out a barely audible breath.

And at that moment, the door quietly opened.

Prowl stood in the doorway. Usually his posture was perfect—now a little tense. Hands behind his back. Visors not looking straight ahead. He knew you'd read it.

"...It wasn't logical," he said quietly.

"But I decided honesty was more important today."

He finally looked up. And there was no cold discipline in him. There was anticipation. And... fear.

"If you don't share... it won't affect the team."

"I'm capable of maintaining professionalism."

A lie.

You saw it.

He couldn't have done it.

Silence fell over the room.

He took a step closer.

"February 14th is a human holiday."

"They call it... Confession Day."

His voice softened slightly.

"I decided to give it a try."

And at that moment, he looked not like a strategist.

Not like a warrior.

But like someone risking a spark for the first time.

…

Silence.

He waits.