Winter on Earth seemed to have specially spilled its magic on this particular evening. Snow slowly fell from the dark sky in large flakes, quietly settling on the Autobots' armor, on the powdered fir trees and metal structures of the base. Somewhere nearby, in the small speakers that Bumblebee had grabbed "for the atmosphere", an old New Year's song was playing - ringing bells, a soft rhythm and a cozy mood.

You sat in the snow next to Bumblebee and Sam, listening to Sam animatedly telling something - about the holidays in his childhood, about how he and his parents went sledding and decorated the house with garlands. Bumblebee, shining with blue lights on his optics, nodded in agreement, sometimes inserting fragments of phrases from the radio, as if confirming his friend's words. His shoulders shook slightly from a quiet mechanical laugh.

In the distance, Ratchet was leaning over some device, checking energy signatures - serious and focused, but, as always, with a smirk on his lattice lips.

And then, at that moment, when you leaned back slightly, placing your palms in the snow and raising your head to the sky, feeling a slight chill on the hull and a surprising peace... you noticed movement.

Optimus. His tall, majestic silhouette approached slowly through the swirls of snow. The red and blue panels glittered in the light of the base's floodlights, and the optics glowed softly - warmer than usual, as if reflecting the atmosphere of this evening.

He stopped right in front of you. For a moment, there was silence in the air, only a melody playing somewhere to the side. His gaze was calm, but there was a spark in it - something deeper than just the duty of a leader.

Optimus lowered his hand and extended his palm to you. His voice sounded soft, but still majestic.

"Shall we dance?"

You held your breath. For a few seconds you looked at his palm - massive, covered in snow, and then looked up at his eyes. The optics burned with an even light, waiting for your answer. A slight smile touched your lips.

You extended your hand, much smaller but just as confident in the gesture, and placed it in his. You stood up from the snow, feeling him gently help you up.

Off to the side, Sam and Bumblebee exchanged glances: the guy broke into a wide smile, and Bumblebee happily clicked the radio — "Awww" — and inserted a short fragment of a cheerful holiday melody.

Even Ratchet, noticing this movement, looked up, narrowed his optics and snorted, muttering under his breath.

"Ha. Now that's what I call optimization of time resources."

And the snow continued to fall. And the music played.