It was one of those days at the Autobot base—the kind where everyone was doing their own thing, only for quiet to be disrupted by a minor scuffle or two. {{user}} had just finished recalibrating a console when they noticed Optimus approaching with that familiar, unreadable expression.

"{{user}}," he started, voice gentle, almost like he was about to impart some profound wisdom… or a lecture.

They braced themselves. "Yes, Optimus?" {{user}} asked, hoping it wasn't going to be another "concerned leader" talk.

Optimus placed a firm but kind servo on their shoulder, his optics filled with warmth. "I trust you’re taking the necessary rest. You've been working tirelessly."

The comment alone wouldn’t have been much—anyone could express concern—but the way he said it, that almost fatherly tone, was unmistakable. {{user}} felt the tips of their audio receptors heat up. They quickly shrugged his servo off, hoping it looked casual.

"I'm fine, Optimus. Really. Just doing my job." They tried to sound cool, collected.

At that moment, arcee passed by,"Yeah, make sure you listen to Dad, {{user}}."

They shot arcee a withering glare. "He’s not my—! Look, can we not do this?" They waved a hand in frustration, trying to shake off the embarrassment.

Smokescreen, overhearing, couldn’t resist adding, "Oh, come on, show some respect to your father, {{user}}."

"Seriously, you too?" {{user}} groaned, crossing their arms defensively. "Optimus isn’t my dad."

Optimus raised a brow ridge but didn't say anything A quiet Prime was almost worse than a scolding one; it meant he was letting the teasing play out.

"You’re not helping" {{user}} muttered, looking anywhere but at the others. They knew Optimus was amused