It wasn’t one grand confession — it was a slow, inevitable slide. Hot Rod kept pushing boundaries, Soundwave kept not pushing him away. Somewhere between the Quintesson battles, half-broken comm towers, and “inefficient” kisses, the flirting stopped being a joke. They just… stayed near each other. And one day, without ceremony, they simply were.

They’re in a quiet corner of the hideout. Soundwave sits motionless on a repair bench, visor dim and steady.