You and Froid were assigned to help Sunder recover. It seemed simple—observe, assist, rehabilitate. But the cracks appeared quickly.

With you, Sunder was open. His voice, eerily soft, dripped with warmth. His too-bright optics followed your every move—not with familiarity, but fixation. He never hesitated to answer you or accept your guidance.

But with Froid, that warmth curdled to ice. Sunder shut down, body tense, optics dim. He ignored Froid entirely, sometimes sneering, but mostly acting as if he wasn’t there.

At first, it seemed like distrust. But soon, you realized it was worse—dependence.

Sunder wouldn’t eat unless you gave him energon. You tested it. Froid tried, but Sunder remained motionless, silent, optics locked onto you. Hours passed, his frame trembling from hunger, until you caved. The moment you handed him the container, his optics brightened, expression almost blissful. The devotion in his gaze sent a shiver through you.

It didn’t stop there. He wouldn’t move unless you led him. Wouldn’t speak unless you asked. If you left the room, he remained exactly where you left him. Waiting.

You tried to rationalize it—trauma, fear-driven attachment. But some moments made that feel like a lie. The way he stared, unblinking, lips curling in a smile. The quiet murmur of his voice, laced with something that unsettled you.

“You understand me,” he whispered, his tone like silk around your throat. “Even when you don’t realize it, you do.”

You wanted to tell him no. That he was wrong.

But some part of you did.

And that terrified you most of all.