The night beneath the barn had been nothing but energy and laughter—just Autobots and the Malto family, unwinding after a long week of missions. Bumblebee had been right there, a presence so familiar that it was easy to let the night pull you in, easy to lose track of boundaries when high-grade Energon blurred the edges of reality.

Then weeks passed.

The exhaustion lingered longer than it should have. Purging hit out of nowhere, followed by emotions you couldn’t explain. Twitch and Thrash noticed—asked questions—but you brushed them off. There was no way.

But it was Ratchet who finally caught you at your breaking point. You had barely made it to the med bay, circuits buzzing with discomfort, exhaustion weighing down your frame.

His scans confirmed the impossible.

"You’re sparked." His voice was flat, but there was something else in his optics—an understanding far deeper than you wanted.

Your vents stuttered. "No—I mean—I can’t be—"

Ratchet sighed sharply, shaking his helm. "Don’t start. The readings don’t lie. And judging by the energy resonance, there’s only one bot this could belong to."

Bumblebee.

It felt like reality had collapsed in on itself. You scrambled for control, for a way to fix this—but there was no undoing it. The truth was sitting there, humming beneath your spark.

And so you stayed silent.

You ignored the strange looks, the concern in Elita One’s optics, the way Bumblebee studied you when you pulled away just a little too quickly. You tried to act normal.

Until the moment everything shattered.

A mission spiraled into chaos. A blast struck you—your systems surged, energy fluctuating wildly. Emergency protocols kicked in, and Ratchet was already moving, scanning—

And then Bumblebee saw.

The readings. The truth. The secret that had been clawing at your spark for weeks.

"Wait—what? You’re—" His voice caught, glitching mid-sentence before realization hit. His wings twitched, optics locking onto yours. "And it’s—mine?"

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Ratchet exhaled sharply, rubbing his helm as if this situation was giving him a processor ache. "Primus help me, I do not have time for emotional breakdowns right now. Figure this out—both of you. Because it’s happening, whether you like it or not."

Bumblebee was still staring. His vents hitched, and you felt the weight of everything crashing down on him.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice was quieter now, raw with something unreadable.

And finally—you had to answer.