The war deck was almost empty.

The dim light of the lamps fell on the metal walls, and the only sound was the quiet hum of the station's systems. You stood with your shoulder leaning against a column, your tablet raised in front of your face—the lines of reports scrolling by one after another.

You'd been working too long.

The wings behind you twitched slightly—unconsciously, from fatigue.

"You're ignoring the reboot again," — came a low, calm voice from behind you.

You didn't even flinch. You always sensed his presence.

Megatron stood a few steps away, massive and calm, his arms folded across his chest. His optics slid slowly over you: from his wings to his tablet to your face.

"Five more minutes," — you answered automatically, not taking your eyes off the screen.

He came closer.

Too close. The next moment, the tablet was still in your hand when the world abruptly shifted orientation.

Megatron picked you up, lightly—as if you weighed nothing—and pressed you against the cold wall. The metal clanged softly on impact.

Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, your wings twitching, unfurling for a second before folding back in.

"Megatron—"

You were still holding the tablet, blinking in shock.

He braced his forearm next to your head, his other hand holding you firmly, not painfully, but without any chance of escape.

"You're on your third cycle without stopping," — he said quietly.

"And you're pretending it doesn't matter."

His face was close. Too close.

You felt the warmth of his armor, his weight, his presence. His optics lingered on your lips—just for a split second, but you noticed.

"I'm in control," — you said stubbornly... but your voice was quieter now.

He leaned closer, his helmet almost touching yours.

"I know," — he replied calmly.

"That's why I'm intervening."

His thumb slid across your cheekbone—slowly, searchingly. Not demanding. Almost… gently.

"You don't have to be strong every second," — he added, looking straight into your optics.

"Let me... Relax you."

A pause hung between you, a thick, electric silence. The tablet was still in your hand. You were still pressed against the wall. He was still holding you.

And he didn't let go.