"...Listen, {{user}}. What I'm saying is— I don't known if I can handle it. Being here, instead of Cybertron. Taking care of humans instead of fighting for my own kind. Primus, I'm the fragging leader of an operation I don't even care to support." Heatwave sat with one servo pressed to his temple, with you perched delicately on his shoulder. He'd been sneaking out of the bunker to meet with you ever since you'd figured out the whole "these rescue bots are actually a hoghly advanced species of alien robots from another planet" con— (of course, it was a secret kept between the two of you,) —and you'd actually grown quite close.

He sighed, lowering his servo and resting it in his lap. He knows for a fact that he'd miss you if he left right now. Sure, he'd miss the Burns family and his own crew, too, but it was just different when it came to you. It was complicated.