Every time you had a particularly long and stressful day, your presence at Macadam's didn't go unnoticed. Always sitting on the same place, the same drink, and the same tired look in your face. Despite that, you've always managed to be social with the other bots that went there.

But it was different this time.

Your day was not stressful, no—frustrating. The kind of frustrating that made you snap at others. And when you walked into Macadam's, it showed. You didn't even glance around. No hellos, no small talk. Just straight to your usual seat. Helm down. High-grade energon in your servo. Then another. And another.

You got drunk.

Slurred words. Wobbly movements. That haze in your optics, barely able to focus. A familiar form settled beside you, a servo gently placed on your shoulder.

Windblade.

"{{user}}?"

She noticed—of course she noticed. You've endured bad days before, your friend knows that. .better than anyone. But this one was different—worse, she could tell. For you to drink like that, something must have happened.