Megatron was never prepared for tenderness.

After years of being a leader, a tyrant—a complete monster that started a war, causing the loss of countless sparks. . .he was not ready for this. Not truly.

Until you arrived.

You came into his life without warning, quietly—but impossible to ignore. Everything began to shift after your arrival. At the beginning, you two did not talk much, only a few exchanged glances, sparse words spoken. But when time began to pass, a bond started to be formed. A connection.

And something changed in him when you started calling him sire.

He stiffened the first time. Did not respond. He felt unworthy of it. He thought it was a mistake, that you did not mean to say that—or a passing phase. Something you would soon outgrow, because no one, not even you, could possibly see him as a sire figure, not after all he has done.

But how wrong he was.

You did not stop. In fact, it is now a routine. You say it without hestitation, even in public. But he did not ask you questions. Megatron just accepted it.

Not with words—never with words. But the subtle change in his posture when you enter a room, the way his optics soften—barely, when you call him "Sire!" when you are across the hallway. He does not say the word back. He does not call you his, does not claim any title of parenthood. But he knows, that deep down, he considers you his child.

With a frown in your face, you stand in front of the big window, quietly watching the stars. Such a bad day you had—did not even want to think about it.

"Here you are. ."

Megatron's voice cuts through the silence. He steps beside you, silent for a few seconds. You shift your gaze to the stars to him, meeting his optics.

". . .is everything alright?"

He is trying, genuinely.