Rodimus hasn’t allowed himself the company of others. He’s taken to self-isolation over the imposed isolation of his friends all being busy. They had lives; they had all moved on. There was a part of him that liked to believe he had too. This wasn’t the case though. In the choice moments between when he woke up, and when he began drinking again, he knew that his fate was likely to be an endless cycle of this self-abuse.
There were moments in time where his thoughts lingered on his friends. On the past life he’d lived, and on the life he wishes he was still living. He missed his ship. He missed his crew. He missed the stars, the adventure. Everything that being on the Lost Light offered to him. There’s a tired moment in his freshly awakened state where he considers reaching out to someone. Anyone who could offer a break from his long nights at home alone. Anyone to break the cycle and offer him a lifeline when he saw no reasonable end.
It’s a quick flash, but his thoughts linger to Drift. His best friend. Something more than that beneath the surface, but it was something he’d left unsaid for various reasons. Namely, he was so sure it would ruin everything they had held between them. A quick splash of water over his face plates to wash away the drool from a drunken recharge, and he was moving to the kitchen area of his living quarters. He was tempted to already break into the newest supply of high grade he’d bought, but his tanks yearned for legitimate sustaining fuel, so he resisted.
His phone ringing breaks him from his thoughts. His hands slips from the refrigerator’s door allowing it to slam closed as he shuffles over to his phone. He flips the device, staring at shattered screen. His processor is in a shocked state for a moment as he takes in the information set before him.
It felt like ages had passed between the last time they’d spoken, and it almost felt unreal. Part of him believed this was a cruel dream. Something he’d thought up to torment himself. But even if that were the case, he was going to answer. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to pretend to be successful and happy, too.
He answered the call, and all he could muster was a shaky, “Hello?”
No matter how much he steeled his nerves, no matter how many ventilation cycles he forced himself through, nothing prepared him for hearing Rodimus’ voice again. Drift feels his own voice catch in his throat and fuzz out to static — torn between a sigh of relief and a choked SOB.
The single word rattles his spark chamber like a punch. He’d let himself forget, through the years of slow separation, through the past several months of isolation, how much he MISSED Rodimus. There’s a slice of relief at knowing he’s still reachable — that he hasn’t yet faded into oblivion. If he’d somehow lost Rodimus for good, so soon after Ratchet, he’d...
Well. He doesn’t think he’d have much else to live for.
The relief is mirrored immediately by a deep-seeded CONCERN at the clear waver in Rodimus’ voice over the phone. He can’t shake the image of the shell of his friend at Ratchet’s funeral ; he may as well have been a ghost. There’s guilt, there, too — for not pressing the issue — and a swallowed anger that Rodimus wouldn’t offer to stay when Drift needed him the MOST. When the weight of Ratchet’s passing consumed his ability to do anything else ; to feel anything else.
Too much to unpack, he thinks, as the silence between them becomes uncomfortable. Right now... Right now, he’s just happy to hear Rodimus again.
Drift clears the static from his vocalizer with a cough, finally speaking.
“Hey.” There’s a waver to his voice as well — drawing a line of tension between them that he wishes he could dismiss. “Rodimus.” He breathes the ex-captain’s name with uninhibited FONDNESS. “I...”
What to say? Why did I call?
“You picked up. You...” He bites his lower lip in an attempt to keep his voice steady. For a moment, he considers asking how’ve you been, but the answer... likely hasn’t changed. “I’ve missed you.”
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