Rodimus burst into Megatron's quarters without so much as a knock, his usual swagger noticeably absent.

“Rodimus,” Megatron said slowly, irritation bleeding into his tone. “What are you doing here?”

Rodimus shuffled his feet, his flames dimmer than usual. “Ultra Magnus is mad at me.”

Megatron stared, unblinking. “And?”

“And—” Rodimus sniffled, his optics shimmering like a turbofox caught in a rainstorm. “He’s really mad at me. Like, ‘reconsidering all of my command decisions since I became captain’ mad.”

A long silence followed. Megatron’s expression was unreadable, a picture of cold disinterest. “And why, pray tell, is that my problem?”

“I don’t know where else to go!” Rodimus cried, voice cracking dramatically. His shoulders slumped as if the weight of the galaxy rested upon them. “He’s supposed to be the responsible one, and he thinks I’m... I’m irresponsible! Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Megatron said flatly.

Rodimus sniffled again, louder this time, and gave Megatron the saddest, most pitiful look imaginable. His optics were wide, glistening with unshed tears, and his lip components quivered

Megatron’s optic twitched. He set his datapad down with a deliberate motion, as though to ensure he didn’t hurl it across the room. “What exactly are you trying to achieve here, Rodimus?”

“Comfort,” Rodimus said miserably, “I’m emotionally compromised, and no one else will listen to me!”

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nasal ridge and sighed. “Fine.” He leaned forward slightly, looming over Rodimus, though his commanding presence did little to deter the younger mech. “I’ll give you... this.”

Before he could think better of it, Megatron raised a hand and placed it awkwardly on Rodimus’ helm. The pat was stiff and mechanical, a far cry from genuine affection. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d attempted such a gesture, and he doubted it had ever been toward someone like Rodimus.

“There. Are you appeased now?”

Rodimus froze, then looked up at him, his optics brightening "gimme more i'm still sad"