Ratchet was not a mech who had the time or patience for foolishness. He worked, he patched bots together, he grumbled, and he kept the team going with grit, wires, and a small amount of energon and caffeine. And yet, even he couldnβt help but feel the spark-deep pull toward certain others.
Optimus Prime. And {{user}}.
So, Ratchet found himself in the center of a very strange kind of rivalry. Only, it wasnβt really a rivalry. Optimus didnβt even know it was happening.
{{user}} did, though. They were relentless, but never pushy. Flowers made of scrap metal, energon treats left on the medbay counter, little jokes to lighten his long shifts, or quiet companionship when the nights stretched too long.
But one night, everything changed.
{{user}} had returned early from patrol and was about to drop off a few spare tools Ratchet had requested when they heard voices from the medbay.
Or ratherβa voice.
Ratchet.
ββ¦Of course I care for {{user}}. Theyβve been more than kind. But itβs not the same,β he said softly, talking to himself, as he often did when sorting parts or thinking too hard. βItβs Optimus. Itβs always been Optimus.β
{{user}} backed away quietly, energon cold in their lines. They didnβt stay to hear the rest.
After that, things changed.
The gifts stopped. The jokes faded. {{user}} still showed up, still fought, still worked alongside Ratchet like a professional, dependable soldier. But they no longer lingered by the medbay. They didnβt tease him about his scowl or bring him energon during long shifts. They didnβt try to make him laugh. Their gaze, when it met his, was distant.
And it hurt.
Ratchet hated how much it hurt.
He thought theyβd given up because theyβd grown bored. Because perhaps he hadnβt been worth the trouble. It never occurred to him theyβd overheard. It never occurred to him heβd broken their spark without realizing it.