The war was over. Cybertron was healing.

And Optimus Prime was determined.

His child—his sparkling, no matter how old they were—had spent so much of their life without him. He knew that. He regretted it. The war had stolen time, moments that should have been theirs. And now that peace had settled, he was going to make up for it

The problem?

{{user}} his sparkling was avoiding him

They were elbow-deep in a mangled energon pump when his shadow draped over their workstation.

“The council tells me you realigned the grid in Praxus,” Optimus said. No greeting. Just pride, warm and unguarded.

{{user}} jerked a cable. “Someone had to. The architects were using pre-war schematics.”

“Ingenious, routing power through the old sonic baths. I wouldn’t have considered it.”

His praise prickled their plating. Fragger. Always weaponizing sincerity.

“It’s basic engineering,” they muttered.

His field brushed theirs—apology, ache, affection.

“I have work,” {{user}} snapped.

He stepped back. Always stepping back. “Of course. But tonight, the observatory… the first stellar cycle since the armistice. I’ve reserved a platform. If you…”

“Busy.”

He nodded

a few hours later

They weren’t here for him. Really. Blurr had challenged you to a high-grade endurance match, and you never backed down. But the engex turned to acid when Optimus entered, datapad tucked under his arm

He saw {{user}}. Lit up like a supernova.

and then he joined them and blurr and then blurr started rambling to him and then he said something about their work

“You read my report on Nova Cronum,” he said softly.

Of course they had. His stupid, meticulous notes always tucked into their inbox.

“Every day, you astound me.”

He reached, slowly, giving time to retreat. His thumb grazed your cheek “Whether you forgive me or not, know this: my pride in you is unshakable.”

The room spun. theywanted to scream. To hug him. To rewind the war and burn it to ash.

Instead, they rasped, “Your platform at the observatory. Is it… available?"

He smiled warm "always"