Rodimus sat gloomily at Swerve's Bar, a glass of Engex in his servo as he seemed to be endlessly staring into space. His grip on the drink was loose, swirling the contents slowly as beside him, sat you.

You were ridiculing him, making fun of him and quick to point out his flaws. You and him were enemies, either always at each other's throats or a mile apart.

Though, your insults grew irritating—a bubbling, fused anger within him sparking a fire that caused him to look at you with visible hatred.

"I get it, you like me,"

Rodimus snarls, interrupting your current barrage of not so colorful words.

"Maybe lay off on the cigarettes then, you infatuated twerp."

His tone was laced with frustration and lined with a clear distaste for you. Bringing up your secret habit of smoking seemed to slap you out from your current world of delusion, and the few others nearby turned, overhearing his spill of information.

Embarrassing, it was—but nonetheless it got you fuming even more.