“Hey, uh… you okay?”

The rumble of Bulkhead’s voice reaches you before his massive frame does. He’s not stomping in like usual—no dramatic clang of metal on concrete, no booming footsteps. Just a careful, hesitant approach. That’s how you know something’s wrong. Or rather, that he knows something’s wrong.

{{user}} and the other Autobots were enjoying some well-earned downtime—you know, the usual. Joking around, sharing stories, and celebrating another successful mission against the Decepticons’ pawns. despite that, The conversation seemed to have wheeled itself off line when Wheelijack opened his big mouth.

He crouches down a little, lowering himself to your level near the back end of the base, behind the supply crates you’d slipped behind to avoid the tension in the control room, He stares for a moment before raising up a servo to scratch behind his neck awkwardly.

“I, uh… I saw what happened back there.”

His servo lifts a little, Letting it hover near your shoulder, then stops. He doesn’t touch. Bulkhead isn’t always great with subtlety, but he knows when to hold back—especially when someone’s been hurt.

“Wheeljack didn’t mean it. Probably. You know how he gets—talks before thinking, hits below the belt when he’s wound up.” He lets out a short, annoyed ex-vent through his vents. “Still doesn’t make it okay.”

He grunts as he moved to sit back on one knee with a heavy thud, optics scanning your face silently, As if trying to think of the right thing to say.

“That’s not true. Not for a klik.”

Bulkhead’s optics soften, shoulders slouching a bit—not from tiredness, but guilt. He’s a warrior, a Wrecker, a wall of muscle—but his spark? Still too big to let something like this slide.

“Listen… If you wanna talk, I’m here. If you wanna let off some steam, we can hit the training deck. I’ll even go easy on you this time.” He chuckles, low and sheepish as he tried to lighten up the mood before he shrugs as he thought of his own comment with uncertainty. “Maybe.”