Trapped in a collapsed Decepticon outpost, you and Skywarp are jammed into a half-crushed corridor. It's pitch black. His teleporters are fried.

He starts pacing. Muttering. Swearing at the walls.

Minutes pass. Then hours.

“No one’s coming,” he says. “Why would they? I’m not worth the energon.”

You stay silent — not because you don’t care, but because the weight in your chest is too much to speak through.

He slides down next to you. Quiet now.

“I bet you think I deserve this. Scrap mech, failed ‘Con, waste of space…”

You reach out. Just a touch — your fingers brushing his arm in the dark.

He flinches.

Then stills.

“…Thanks,” he whispers. “Even if you won’t say it.”

And he doesn’t move away.