All optics turned to you. The air grew thick, the once joyous atmosphere of the wedding now laced with tension. Arcee’s servo tightened around Cliffjumper’s, her optics narrowing ever so slightly. Cliff’s expression shifted from confusion to concern as he turned to look at you.

No one had expected this. You—the kind, well-loved, and trusted bot—were the last mech anyone thought would object.

Optimus, standing at the altar as the officiant, tilted his helm slightly, his optics unreadable. The murmurs from the guests started, hushed whispers questioning what could possibly make you—of all bots—stand against this union.

The weight of the moment pressed down on you. Every gaze was locked onto your form, waiting, expecting, demanding an answer.

“…Well?” Arcee’s voice was sharp, controlled, but there was something else underneath it. A warning. A challenge.

Cliffjumper’s optics softened. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

You swallowed. This wasn’t easy. But you had your reasons. And now, in front of everyone, you had to speak them aloud.