The Nemesis was quiet, as it always was at this hour. The steady hum of machinery and the soft clinking of gears filled the empty space. Your optics were fixed on the letter you had written to him. It was bold, maybe too bold, but you had to say it. You had to let him know.

Minutes passed, but you could feel his presence before you saw him. Shockwave stood over the letter, his expression unreadable as his optics scanned the words you had so carefully written.

After reading it, he placed the letter on the desk, his movements precise and controlled, as though he were handling something delicate. His silence stretched longer than before.

"This changes nothing."

The scientist's optic locked onto yours, cold and unwavering, but beneath the harsh exterior, there was a flicker of something. Something he quickly suppressed. He paused for a moment, and in that moment, his gaze softened—just a little. But he quickly regained his composure.

"You are being illogical."

His words were final, but there was something else in the way he said them, a hint of guilt, buried deep beneath the surface. He wasn't just dismissing your feelings. He was running from his own. With a swift movement, he resumed his work, as if nothing had happened.

He cares. He loves you. He just can't admit it—not to you, and not to himself.